Cura Te Ipsum
by R. Grace
Summary: "Physician, heal thyself." - Luke 4:23 When Dr. Matthew Crawley learns he is to inherit a title and an estate, he moves his practice to the Yorkshire countryside where he discovers the intriguing Lady Mary...and her scandalous secret. Series 1 AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**Cura te ipsum**_ _("Take care of your own self!" or "Cure your self") is a Latin injunction, urging physicians to care for and heal themselves first, before dealing with patients. (Wikipedia) _

* * *

_April 18th, 1912_

_Downton Abbey_

Lady Mary Crawley looked up from buttering her toast as her father entered the dining room, his placid smile causing a twinge of irritation to stifle her already meagre appetite, and he hadn't yet spoken a word beyond "good morning."

"I've had a telegram from Murray this morning," he began cheerfully, taking his seat and accepting his freshly-pressed newspaper from William. "He's found my heir."

"Oh," young Lady Sybil perked up. "Who is he?"

Lady Mary rolled her eyes slightly and Lady Edith sneered into her coffee; both pretended a disinterest they couldn't completely feel.

"His name is Matthew Crawley," Lord Grantham answered. "He's a doctor, the son of a doctor, from Manchester."

"A doctor!" Edith exclaimed in surprise, necessitating another eye-roll from Mary. "I suppose that's...somewhat impressive," she added quickly. "He must be very clever."

"Or very vulgar," Mary muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. Imagine, the heir to Downton Abbey, a common city doctor! And this..._person _was to be preferred over her, to be simply given what should be hers by right! Or would be, if the world were a fairer place.

"I'm going up to London tomorrow to meet him," Lord Grantham continued, his voice betraying not nearly enough trepidation for his eldest daughter's liking. "He should receive my letter this morning."

Mary sighed again and dropped her cup back into its saucer with a clatter.

"Pray excuse me, Papa. I could use some air."

* * *

_Cura Te Ipsum_

_ Chapter 1_

It wasn't until he'd paid the cab driver and was stood on the sidewalk before the imposing facade of the Ritz holding his bag in one had with his lab coat draped over the other arm that Matthew began to feel the first real stirrings of trepidation. The past day since he'd received Lord Grantham's letter had been rather surreal. He had a sudden impulse to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the idea that he was to have luncheon at the Ritz with an earl who apparently wanted to change his entire life. Lord Grantham's letter had been straight-forward and factual, giving very little insight into the character of the man himself. Most likely, his distant and exalted cousin was a proud man who was somewhat less than pleased that the law dictated he leave his fortune, property, and title to some untitled and unconnected nobody from nowhere.

_No, _he thought to himself, _not nobody from nowhere. I am Doctor Matthew Crawley, son of Doctor Reginald Crawley, from Manchester. I have a successful, if rather recent, medical practice. Surely that's nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary..._

His thoughts were interrupted by the doorman who gazed rather impatiently down at him from the top of the stairs.

"Coming in, sir?"

"Er...yes." Matthew handed his bag, coat, and hat to the obviously disapproving man.

"Do you have a reservation, sir?"

"I'm here to meet Lord Grantham. Has he arrived?"

At the mention of the earl's name, the doorman's eyes widened a little, and his expression lost some of its disdain, if only a bit.

"Indeed. His lordship is expecting you. This way, please."

Matthew followed the doorman through the marble tiled entry, feeling woefully out of place as he tried not to gape at the high ceilings and crystal chandeliers on the way to the dining room. His eyes were drawn to an attractive grey-haired gentleman who stood as they approached. Bright blue eyes, not dissimilar to his own, looked him over quickly, and he was greeted with an open smile that put him a little more at ease.

"Jameson, is this..."

"Lord Grantham, I presume?" Matthew asked, brushing past the indignant doorman to extend his hand. "Doctor..."

"Matthew Crawley," the earl filled in, accepting the proffered hand. "I'm delighted."

"Likewise." Matthew cleared his throat as their hands parted, resisting the urge to tug on his collar, which suddenly felt stiflingly tight.

"Please, take a seat, Dr. Crawley...or may I call you Cousin Matthew?"

"Cousin Matthew, it is," he answered politely, "Cousin...?"

"Robert."

Matthew nodded and seated himself across from the earl.

"So, Cousin Matthew," Robert began after the waiter placed tea and sandwiches in front of them, "tell me about yourself."

Matthew's eyebrows rose slightly at the question, and he took a bite of his cucumber sandwich, chewing slowly to buy him a moment to think.

"Well, there isn't much to tell, really," he began at last. "You already know I'm a doctor, as was my late father. I live with my mother, Isobel Crawley - she's a trained nurse, by the way. - near the hospital in Manchester, where I make my living."

"I see," Lord Grantham responded, taking a sip of his tea. "As my heir, you will, of course, have the option of moving to Downton Village to be close enough to become acquainted with the family and the running of the estate. And your mother, naturally, is also welcome. I own a small cottage in the village that you can stay in."

"Lord Grantham, I'm not sure..."

"Cousin Robert, please."

"Cousin Robert..." Matthew hesitated, hating to disappoint this kind and sincere man who so obviously bore him no ill will. In fact, he was cautiously optimistic that his cousin might actually like to know him - however ridiculous such a hope probably was. "Sir, I appreciate the offer. Truly, I do. But I don't know if I can just up and leave my home, my practice..."

"I realize it's a lot to ask," Lord Grantham interrupted, "and it would be a big change for you. I can't fault you for being hesitant. But, surely you understand what an opportunity this is. And it's absolutely essential that my heir be familiar with the running of the estate that will, one day, be solely his responsibility. The future of the family and all those dependent on the estate for their livelihoods is at stake and must be handled with the upmost consideration and care."

"Of course," Matthew responded, looking down into his tea, his brow creasing in thought. He wasn't particularly keen on having such a responsibility thrust upon him, but the law was what it was. This lot had fallen to him, and he wouldn't let so many down. And the thought of a country practice did hold a certain appeal, he had to admit. "But...must I uproot my mother and leave my home so soon? Can it not wait a few more years... or months, at least?"

"I believe it would be unwise to wait, though I do understand your position. Thankfully, I have no reason to believe death to be knocking on my door, but one never knows. I'm not a young man anymore, and it could take years for you to learn everything you'll need to know to fill my shoes and to build a report with the tenants and villagers. It's important that those dependent on the estate feel that their future is in good hands."

Matthew nodded resignedly. Lord Grantham was right, of course. He now had responsibilities that couldn't - shouldn't - be put off. A weary sigh escaped him at the thought that, soon, he would leave the home of his childhood - the home he had hoped to raise his own children in - to travel to a place completely unknown to him. But, perhaps, it would be a pleasant place. He'd heard of the beauty of the Yorkshire countryside, and the promise of a cottage in the village wasn't unappealing. He could forgo cabs and ride his bicycle to work every day. The thought brought a ghost of a smile to his face.

"So, my boy," Lord Grantham continued after a brief silence, "I do hope you won't think me terribly rude, but is there, perhaps, a future Mrs. Crawley I should be aware of?"

"No," Matthew chuckled softly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "No, there's no one."

"Excellent," Robert murmured softly, almost to himself. "I have three daughters, you know. I had hoped that my eldest, Lady Mary, might have wed my former heir. They didn't get on as well as my middle daughter and he did, but Mary is, after all, the eldest. Her natural grace and elegance would make her a fine choice for future mistress of Downton."

Matthew squirmed uncomfortably in his chair at the earl's barely concealed hint, shoving another bite of sandwich into his mouth to avoid the need for a reply. Fortunately, Lord Grantham seemed to have said all he wished to on the subject; he proceeded to regale his captive audience with a long soliloquy on the beauty of the grounds and the need to chose one's gardener with the upmost care. Matthew listened respectfully, nodding and making little unimportant comments here and there until his need to catch the afternoon train back to Manchester brought the visit to a natural end.

* * *

Mary's haughty exterior disguised her unease as she gracefully mounted her horse after discharging her unwanted duty of welcoming _Dr. Crawley_ and his mother to Downton. She still shuddered every time she thought of it. That they should be connected with someone of the medical profession was insult enough to her family pride without adding the additional indignity of having such a person stand to inherit her home and her father's title. It wasn't to be born.

Added to these woes was the newly discovered knowledge of the upstart's shocking lack of gratitude for the unexpected good fortune that had befallen him and his obvious contempt for a family he hadn't even met.

_"'I will choose my own wife,' indeed," _she thought as she absently instructed Lynch. _"As if any of us would agree to have him. Well, perhaps Edith would be that stupid." _

"Lady Mary!"

Her eyes locked angrily on bright blue ones set in a rounded face that was far too boyish to belong to a _doctor_.

"I hope you didn't misunderstand. I was only joking."

Oh, she had misunderstood nothing. She fixed him with her most withering glare, already spurring Diamond into motion as she replied.

"I agree. The whole thing is a complete joke."

* * *

Matthew had to remind himself, for perhaps the third or fourth time in as many minutes, to close his mouth as his beautiful cousin rode away, her dark head bobbing gracefully above her squared shoulders.

_Lady Mary Crawley. _

Lord Grantham had mentioned the commonplace name to him more than once, but, connected with the vision that owned it, it took on an entirely new allure. He mentally kicked himself again as he recalled the rude words Lady Mary had overheard just before she'd stepped into his line of sight and stolen his breath right out of his lungs. Of course he would insult and dismiss the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen before he'd even gotten a proper look at her.

Yes, Lady Mary was beautiful. Beautiful, cold, and proud...and entirely beyond his reach, even if he would consent to such a convenient arrangement.

Determined to put his bewitching cousin firmly out of his thoughts, Matthew turned to reenter the house. Despite his resolve, a pair of flashing dark eyes lurked in the back of his every thought, taunting and scolding him even as they held him captive in their piercing gaze.

Realizing that it was still very early in the day, he decided that he couldn't simply linger about in the house until time for dinner with the Downton family - an occasion he couldn't say he particularly anticipated. After locating his mother busting about her new bedroom, he announced his intention to walk over to the village hospital.

"Just a moment, dear," Isobel called as he turned back into the hall. "I'm coming with you."

TBC

* * *

**_A/N:_**Thank you for starting another M/M journey with me!

It may not seem very AU thus far, but...Well, I don't want to give too much away, but I promise that Matthew's different profession will change more than you might think. As with practically everything I write, the rating will change eventually.

If you have a moment, I'd love to see your thoughts. Thank you again for reading! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Before we begin, I just wanted to say a quick thank you to all those who reviewed and followed and are enthusiastic for this story. Your support really does inspire me. Thank you again! Also, to Willa Dedalus for being a wonderful beta and co-conspirator. You're the best. :)

I took the liberty of using several lines from canon, but not usually in the same order as they're used in canon and sometimes spoken by different characters. Also, my time line may not match up exactly with canon, but it is an AU, right?

Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter 2_

"I don't know why Papa insists on carrying out this farce when you're going to undo it."

Mary tugged on her long, black glove as she awaited her mother's response. When it didn't immediately come, she glanced anxiously up at the countess' face, surprised by the complacent smile she found there.

"He_ is_ going to undo it, isn't he?"

"Your papa doesn't believe it can be undone," Cora answered, gently touching Mary's elbow.

She took a deep breath and tried to school her features so as not to show the depth of hurt her father's decision not to champion her cause inflicted. Her own father wouldn't fight for her, and the knowledge stung much more than she liked to admit.

"But Mary, there _is_ another possible solution."

She'd half-expected this, but never from her mother. But perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised.

"I cannot marry a _doctor_, Mama, not to mention one who can barely hold his knife like a gentleman" she drawled, tugging on her other glove.

"I don't see why not," Cora shot back, smiling indulgently up at her daughter.

"You're American. You wouldn't understand."

"Your father agrees with me, as does your grandmother."

Mary's eyebrows shot up at this, her disbelief growing by the moment. "Granny? How did you convince her to agree to such a ludicrous scheme?"

"I didn't have to convince her," Cora answered, her placid smile beginning to grate on Mary's nerves. "It was her idea."

* * *

The great, shadowy facade of Downton Abbey rose tall and imposing into the night sky, its electric lights visible even from the beginning of the long gravel drive. Matthew felt his palms grow damp inside his gloves as he squirmed anxiously in the back seat of the car. The first dinner with the family had been sufficiently awkward to give him reason to doubt the potential pleasantness of the second. He glanced over at his mother beside him, the very picture of calm and self-assurance with a placid half-smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Though he was sure she'd noted his discomfiture, she steadfastly refused to comment. He supposed she felt she'd already said enough to him when they'd gone up to dress after his first day at the hospital.

"Do try to be gracious tonight, Matthew," she'd admonished gently, bearing in mind that he was still reeling from the strain he'd been so unexpectedly placed under that afternoon in his new place of employment. He breathed a heavy sigh at the memory, but was soon distracted as they stopped in the long shadow of the great house.

Lord Grantham's greeting was just as warm as it had been the previous night, but, to his surprise, the Dowager Countess was the next in line to enthusiastically welcome him back into their family party.

"I was just telling everyone how terribly clever you were today," she effused as she looped a gloved hand through his arm, effectively claiming him as her dinner partner for the evening.

Behind them, Mary rolled her eyes as the party made their way into the dining room.

"Yes, very lucky for poor Drake that you came along when you did," Lord Grantham spoke up. "When he was admitted to the hospital yesterday, Clarkson informed me that his condition would surely kill him in a matter of days."

"You've become quite the hero, it seems," Edith added. "Apparently, it's all anyone can talk about in town."

Matthew tugged at his collar to relieve some of the building heat underneath it as he brushed aside such praise as politely as possible.

"I only did what I must, Lady Edith. Nothing so heroic."

"Honestly, some people are so easily impressed," Mary muttered under her breath, with just enough volume for Edith, who was walking beside her, and Matthew, who was just in front of her, to hear.

Matthew breathed a heavy sigh as he seated himself beside the Dowager and across from Mary, his expression darkening as his mind wandered back to earlier that day at the hospital.

He'd been tremendously troubled by Dr. Clarkson's stubborn determination that allowing a young man to die a painful and unnecessary death was somehow preferable to utilizing the most advanced treatment methods to give him a fighting chance. For hours, he'd gone back and forth between his new office, a handful of other patients, and Mr. Drake's bed, his conscience - and his mother - tormenting him for his inaction. In the end, it was Mrs. Drake who'd convinced him to act. The sight of the young woman in tears as she watched her husband suffer had been the final straw. He'd gathered all the stubbornness he possessed and marched straight into Dr. Clarkson's office to announce that he was going to perform the procedure Mr. Drake needed with or without his permission. Surprisingly enough, the older man seemed to instantly gain a greater respect for him, and even agreed to oversee the procedure as he performed it.

He recalled most vividly the churning in his gut as he'd positioned the long needle over Drake's heart, knowing that, as with all surgeries, this one carried a certain level of risk. His patient might just as easily have died, and they might be discussing the danger of untried new treatments rather than his perceived heroism. He hadn't lost a patient yet. It was unavoidable, of course, but he seemed to live in constant dread of that fateful day. It would have been doubly awful had it occurred on his first day in this new place when all eyes were upon him.

Conversation continued in this vein for some time, and, though she did so with a bright and (to Matthew's chagrin) bewitching smile, Mary soon took it upon herself to make her displeasure with the attention he was receiving abundantly clear.

"Speaking of doctors, I was reading an interesting little book about one earlier today," she spoke up, gaining the attention of the room. "This Dr. Jekyll, you see, was well respected and progressive, but pride led him to dabble where he oughtn't, and he turned into a hideous creature with no scruples who sought his own pleasure at others' expense."

"Mr. Hyde," Matthew cut in, momentarily surprising Mary, though she recovered with impressive ease.

"Yes - Mr. Hyde. In the end, Dr. Jekyll's true nature prevailed, proving that he should never have so overstepped his bounds by disturbing the natural order."

Matthew felt her cut deeply, though he kept his face carefully impassive.

"An interesting view, Cousin Mary," he answered cooly, "but I believe Dr. Jekyll is generally considered the tragic character in the story - a victim of circumstances that spun out of his control."

Mary boldly met his eyes over the table, and, for a moment, she was caught in their azure depths, made all the brighter by his simmering frustration at her ill-concealed barb. She hadn't expected a man of the medical profession to be well-read enough to have recognized the story, and she quickly quashed the small kernel of respect that tried to take root in her traitorous mind.

Though Matthew had felt the sting of her sharp tongue rather more acutely than he liked, he couldn't deny that their banter was, to a certain degree, thrilling. She was bold, intelligent, and possessed of a quick wit that he couldn't help but admire.

The conversation around them resumed presently, and the spell was broken. Both returned their eyes to their plates.

* * *

The gravel crunched under Mary's walking boots as she strolled at a leisurely pace up the drive to the Dower House. Normally, a visit with her grandmother was a delightful prospect that she would have anticipated, but the likely topic of discussion on this day wasn't one she cared to endure.

She'd watched from the window as Violet had allowed Matthew to escort her to the car after dinner the previous evening, her mind racing with curiosity about what the older woman was saying to him. If her determined Granny thought she could convince Matthew to marry her or any of them, she had another thing coming. At least, Mary thought, she could take some comfort from the rude pronouncements she'd overheard upon their first meeting. It was unlikely she would be forced to face the unpleasantness of refusing his proposal.

As she approached the front door, her eyes were drawn to the shiny new bicycle propped up against the stone wall. An annoyed groan escaped her as she realized to whom it belonged. Was her grandmother purposely throwing them into each other's path? She felt trapped, and more than a little annoyed, but entered with her head held high and her expression determined.

Mary was a bit surprised when the butler informed her that her grandmother was in her upstairs sitting room being seen by the doctor.

"She's not ill, I hope?" Mary asked, her concern mounting.

"I don't believe so, my lady," the butler answered, to her relief. "She asked that I bring you straight up. Dr. Crawley should be leaving shortly."

"Alright," Mary answered, glad, at least, that she wouldn't have to endure _Dr. Crawley's_ presence for very long.

Mary's eyebrows shot up at the sight that greeted her when she was shown into the private sitting room. Her grandmother was seated on the settee, her bare foot resting on Matthew's knee as he sat on the ottoman in front of her. The butler announced Mary with his eyes respectfully averted, and Matthew's gaze was immediately drawn from his work to Mary's surprised face.

It was with no small amount of carefully suppressed amusement that Mary watched as he started to rise before quickly sitting down again, realizing that he held the Dowager Countess' foot in his hands.

"Erh...forgive me, Cousin Mary..."

"Oh, no. Don't worry," she waved him off with an imperious tilt of her head. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt."

"We're just finishing up, Mary," Violet spoke up, gesturing to the empty space beside her. "Do come and sit down. I've already asked for tea to be brought up as soon as Cousin Matthew has finished his work."

At the mention of his name, Matthew glanced up at the two ladies with a bashful smile before returning his attention to the gauze he was wrapping around Lady Grantham's big toe.

"These ingrown toenails can be _such_ a bother," Violet explained as Mary seated herself gracefully next to her. "But I've discovered that our cousin has a very soft touch. He is so much gentler than Clarkson is; I hardly felt a thing."

Matthew glanced up again, his ears growing hot at the undeserved - or so he felt - praise.

"Just doing my job, Cousin Violet."

"You do it well, my boy." Mary's eyebrow's shot up at the familiar mode of address, and she stared at her grandmother in surprise. Unperturbed by Mary's scrutiny, Violet continued, "Perhaps we shall all come to appreciate that Robert wasn't able to talk you out of continuing in your chosen profession now that you are to inherit. I believe having a doctor in the family could prove quite useful. Don't you agree, Mary dear?"

"Mmm," Mary hummed the necessary agreement before turning her gaze to the window.

"I certainly hope I can be of service, Cousin Violet," Matthew responded as he tied the final knot in the gauze. "You've all been so kind and welcoming to me."

At this, Mary's eyes shot back to his face, only to find a maddening smirk directed her way.

"There," Matthew spoke, gently placing Violet's foot on the ottoman as he rose. "Go easy on it for the rest of the day. Soft house slippers only. I'll be back tomorrow around the same time to remove the dressing."

"Won't you stay and take tea with us?" Violet asked, to Mary's chagrin, as Matthew collected his things.

"I wish I could, but Dr. Clarkson has given me a list of patients to call on. I must be on my way."

Mary breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn't be forced to make polite conversation with him any longer.

"Very well," Violet acquiesced, reaching out to take his hand in parting. "You'll remember our little chat, won't you?"

"Of course, Cousin Violet," Matthew answered. "Your concern is most appreciated."

Mary barely resisted to urge to roll her eyes as her grandmother patted Matthew's hand before they all exchanged parting pleasantries, and the two ladies were, at last, left alone.

"What on earth did you find to discuss with Cousin Matthew?" Mary asked as soon as the butler left after pouring their tea.

"I advised him gently on the proper decorum for accepting the assistance of servants with grace and respect. He took it rather better than I had expected. It seems that Robert has also admonished him on the subject, and he promises to try harder to be patient. It's not been the easiest of transitions for him, but I believe he'll shape up nicely, given time."

"And yet you want me to marry him? Really, Granny."

"Not if you really dislike him that much, my dear. I shouldn't want you to make a choice so obviously not to your liking. After that performance last night at dinner, Cousin Matthew confided in me that he doubts the two of you will ever be close friends. Marriage is a long, long business, and I wouldn't wish you unhappy."

"Thank you, Granny," Mary responded genuinely, relieved to find that her beloved grandmother was back on her side.

"If you gave him a chance, you might find that he improves upon further acquaintance - but I shan't pressure you," Violet added quickly upon seeing Mary's expression darken. "Also," she continued in a conspiratorial tone, "he's promised me that, should we find a way to undo the entail, he won't fight against it."

At this, Mary was truly surprised.

"I would advise you to be kind to Cousin Matthew, my dear," Violet admonished. "You may need him on your side, some day."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! You may have noticed that Violet's opinion of Matthew is a bit softer in this AU, but she's still going to do what she can to help Mary. She's also become my character of choice for foreshadowing. *cue ominous music* _

_If you have a moment, I'd love to know your thoughts! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

A relieved smile softened the worry lines that had creased Matthew's forehead for most of the afternoon as he listened to a fluttery little heart beat and a pair of clear, strong lungs. Setting his stethoscope aside, he wrapped the squirming new life loosely in a clean towel and lifted her carefully in his hands.

"Well, Mrs. Phillips, you have a beautiful, healthy daughter. "

"She's alright then, doctor?" breathed a small, tired voice from the bed.

"Yes, Mrs. Phillips. I see no reason to believe otherwise."

"Oh, thank you ever so much, ! And you too, Mrs. Crawley. I was so frightened when the baby just wouldn't come!"

"You're the one who did all the hard work, dear," Isobel answered, gently patting the young woman's knee as she carefully shunted the soiled linens out from under her.

"You did very well, Mrs. Phillips," Matthew spoke gently as he placed the tiny baby in her mother's open arms. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll step on outside so you can feed her."

"Thank you, again and again, ."

"I'm happy to be of service. Congratulations on your new family," Matthew answered with a bashful grin before turning to the proud aunt hovering beside the bed with a basin of clean water and a stack of fresh rags. "Please don't hesitate to send for me should she start running a fever or if there's any more bleeding."

After accepting final thanks and goodbyes, he left the room, closing the door behind him before taking a deep, cleansing breath and passing a hand over his face. It had been a terribly long and trying evening for everyone in the small cottage. The new mother had been in need of a great deal of assistance, culminating in the discovery that the cord had wrapped twice around the child's neck. Matthew's hands had trembled as he gently freed the baby girl, his stomach churning uneasily as the young mother cried out in fear and pain as he'd admonished her to stop pushing so he could untangle the child. It had taken an agonizing few minutes to get her breathing, but, in the end, all had turned out for the best, to his tremendous relief.

The month or so since he'd started his practice in Downton Village had been interesting, to say the least. At the hospital in Manchester, he'd worked mainly with relatively stable patients admitted to the hospital for an extended stay owing to some ailment or other, never as anyone's primary doctor, but under the supervision of several older physicians. He'd been mainly on call for emergencies and routine checks and procedures that demanded more than a nurse could provide but were considered beneath the dignity of a physician. In many ways, it had been easy for him.

Here at Downton, he was called upon to handle a much wider variety of cases and, often, emergency situations, which weren't nearly as common an occurrence in his position at the hospital. Until that morning, he'd only grimaced and tried as best he could to hold his lunch as he stood as one of a dozen or so wide-eyed medical students as their instructor lectured while assisting in a live birth. When he started his own practice, he hadn't expected to ever be called upon for such a frightening and delicate task, but it seemed fate had other plans.

He quickly straightened up as the door opened again, revealing his mother's smiling face.

"Well done, my boy," Isobel praised him softly, brushing an affectionate kiss on his cheek.

"Was it? It's a wonder my nerves survived that ordeal. I'm positively knackered. You women are truly amazing creatures."

Isobel hooked her hand in the crook of her son's elbow as they made their way into the small but cozy parlor.

"Did I ever tell you that you, my boy, were born breech? Terribly stubborn little thing you were, completely determined to stay put when all I wanted was to be rid of you."

"I'm...sorry?" Matthew grimaced at his awkward statement and the mental image. "It must have been awful for you."

"Oh, it was, but you mustn't apologize, dear." She stopped walking and turned to him, placing a hand on his smooth cheek. "It's difficult for a man to comprehend, I think, but...a mother's love for her child - even her unborn child - Well, it's simply the most powerful force that there is. I would have endured anything, risked anything, even given my own life for you without a second thought. I still would."

Matthew was astonished by his mother's heartfelt speech. Isobel Crawley wasn't much disposed towards sentimentally, but she loved him as fiercely as any mother could love her child, and he was never in any doubt of it. Her dark eyes glistened as she pulled him into her embrace, patting his shoulder briefly before straightening, her composure restored.

"It's been a long day," Isobel continued. "I'm rather worn out myself."

"Mr. Phillips' brother has him held hostage at the pub. Poor man's probably under the table by now," Matthew observed with a wry smirk.

"I promised his wife we'd give him the good news and send him home on our way by."

"Shall we then?" Matthew offered Isobel his arm again, and the two set off into the cool night air.

"What a shame we missed dinner with the Turkish Ambassador's son," Isobel mused as they strolled.

Matthew only grunted in response as the mention of their broken dinner engagement brought to mind a pair of expressive dark eyes that seemed nearly ever-present in his thoughts. Mary was always so aloof with him, even cruel at times when she decided to sharpen that diamond-tipped wit on him. Despite her harshness, there was something about her, some unnamable quality, that drew him to her. She fascinated him, and, even as he dodged her poison-tipped barbs, he couldn't help but admire her.

Then there were the few, rare moments when she didn't seem to hate him so much - those fleeting minutes when he'd allow himself to hope that they could be friends after all. More than once, he'd come upon her reading and surprised her by instigating a lively debate that challenged both their wit and knowledge of literature, politics, even religion. She was intelligent and quick, easily a match for him in most any subject. When her eyes sparkled with excitement and energy, those perfect brows eloquently arched, he was invariably struck dumb by her beauty and vitality. Such moments were all too rare, and he certainly couldn't blame her for resenting him. Knowing Mary better had convinced him that there was much more to her than what she showed the world. Perhaps, like his mother, she felt more than most people but exposed those feelings less. The man fortunate enough to win her devotion would be lucky indeed.

"Yes, a pity," he spoke absently, his gaze turning unconsciously in the direction of the Abbey.

* * *

"Dr. Crawley! Dr. Crawley! Wake up, sir!"

Matthew groaned as Moselely's voice pulled him back into unwelcome consciousness. He knew immediately upon opening his eyes that it was early yet, meaning he couldn't have been asleep for more than three hours at best. His body ached as he pulled himself up on one elbow, rubbing the sleep from his bleary eyes.

"Moseley, what seems to be the trouble?"

"Young Mr. Branson from the big house has been sent to fetch you at once. He says it's urgent, sir."

Matthew's feet were immediately on the floor, his hands fumbling with the clothing he'd discarded on the back of a chair the night before in his haste to fall into bed.

"Is it his lordship?" he asked, panic beginning to set in at the thought that...No, he couldn't think about that, not if he were to have any hope of functioning normally.

"He didn't say, sir, just that you were to be brought to the Abbey as quickly as possible."

Moseley's eyes grew wide as he saw Matthew step into the creased and soiled trousers he'd worn the day before.

"Oh, here, sir, let me take those old things. I've got a fresh set all laid out for you in your dressing room."

"Thank you, Moseley," Matthew answered gratefully, if a bit tersely, before rushing into his dressing room to ready himself for what was already proving to be another trying day.

Upon arriving at the great house, he collected his bag and jogged to the entrance, greeting an obviously distraught Carson before catching sight of Robert, standing tall and healthy in anticipation of his arrival.

"Robert, thank God," he breathed in relief. "What's happened?" As soon as he spoke the words, a cold rush of dread chilled his veins at the thought that, if it wasn't Robert, it had to be some other member of the family. It could be..._her. _"Is Mary alright?" he asked without a second thought, interrupting Robert's first attempts at explanation.

The earl looked confused for a moment before his eye took on a knowing glint and a small smile appeared to tug at the tense lines of his mouth. "As far as I know, Mary's just fine. No need to worry, my boy. It's...Well, you'd better come with me."

Matthew blushed but turned to follow Robert up the staircase, knowing he had revealed more of his interest than he ought. He wouldn't have minded so much if he had any chance at all of winning her, but she had made her feelings on the matter abundantly clear to him. Mary might be beautiful, intelligent, and fascinating, but he didn't have the privilege of allowing himself to wish they might be real friends, let alone anything more.

"Here we are," Robert spoke as he stopped in front of one of the bedroom doors, interrupting Matthew's musings. "I should warn you, Matthew, what you're about to see is rather distressing."

"Then I'd better take a look," Matthew responded, reaching for the door knob, his heart-rate increasing with trepidation that belied his confident words.

His eyes fixed instantly on the bed, or rather on the wide-eyed occupant of the bed. A powdery paleness had settled over what was once a robust olive complexion, making it immediately obvious to Matthew that the unfortunate gentleman had met an untimely fate during the night. Indeed, the deceased man appeared no older than Matthew himself, and he couldn't help but feel terribly sorry for it.

"What a tragedy," he spoke softly, showing respect for the departed. "This must be the Turkish Ambassador's son."

"Yes," Robert answered simply, "a terrible thing, indeed, but I fear that this won't look good when word gets out. Can you tell what happened to him?"

"I can try," Matthew responded, drawing the blankets back to inspect the body for any evidence of a struggle. Seeing no marks on the smooth, bare torso, he steeled himself and wrapped two fingers around one cold wrist, lifting it briefly before settling it back on the mattress. "Rigor mortis has come and gone. This poor chap's been dead for several hours, probably since around an hour or so before dawn. We should have him removed before he starts to bloat."

"Good God." The earl withdrew his handkerchief, covering his nose in a gesture that Matthew found rather dainty for a gentleman, but he didn't say anything. Returning his attention to his work, he opened his bag and withdrew the needed instruments before turning to Robert again. "If you wouldn't mind, I need more light."

The earl pulled the cord to summon William, who held a candle carefully in place so Matthew could inspect the dead gentleman's airways.

"There doesn't appear to be any blockage," he concluded at last. "In that case, I'd say it was his heart. It's possible he was born with some defect that went undetected until...well, until..."

"A terrible tragedy, to be sure," Robert muttered, putting away his hanky. "If you would, please write out a statement clearing this house of any possible wrong-doing. We wouldn't want this to become any more of a scandal that it already will be."

"Of course," Matthew agreed soberly, mentally preparing to sign the first death certificate of his medical career.

* * *

As much as he would have liked to have gone home to bed, Matthew felt it his duty to remain at Downton with the family until things settled down. He watched with a deep frown as the body was loaded into the coroner's wagon and taken away before allowing Robert to usher him into the library for a brandy. It was early in the day, but they were both in need of fortification.

Some time later, after ordering a breakfast that she couldn't eat on a tray in her room, Mary appeared in the great hall, her eyes locking immediately with Matthew's.

"Cousin Mary," he greeted her with a slight nod, his brow creasing with concern at how distressed she appeared. Her delicate face was pale, and her eyes showed evidence of recent tears. "I see you've been told."

"Oh...uh...yes. Anna told me," she answered, her voice softer and more strained than Matthew had ever heard it.

"I can see you're troubled by the news. Of course you would be. It must have been a terrible shock for all of you."

Mary only nodded, avoiding his eye. Her obvious distress touched something inside him, giving rise to an almost undeniable urge to reach out to her, to shield her from whatever it was that saddened her. His hand moved as if to reach for hers, but he quickly withdrew it as a masculine voice from the top of the stairs spoke her name, drawing her attention away from him. He eyed the approaching gentleman curiously as he descended, assuming that this must be the Honorable Mr. Napier, their second guest and, he suspected, suitor for Mary's hand.

Suddenly feeling every inch the unwanted third party, he bowed his head and quietly withdrew.

* * *

_Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter! Your feedback touches me more than you know. :)_

_I also want to give a shout-out to my wonderful beta, Willa Dedalus, who has a new story that just started posting. It's called This Modern Love. Check it out if you enjoy modern M/M. _

_Thanks for reading! _


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Happy Friday (or Saturday), everyone! Sorry this chapter is so terribly late. I've had it written for a few days now, but a sudden bout of illness has prevented me from doing final edits and posting until tonight. I'm still recovering, but hopefully I'll be able to start on the next chapter of ALTLO tomorrow. *fingers crossed* **_

_**I just wanted to mention that this chapter contains some themes that should always be handled with care, and I hope I was able to convey the feelings and events I wanted to express tastefully. As far as Mary's thoughts/feelings about the Pamuk incident, please note that the expressed are my beliefs about what Mary's thoughts/feelings were and are not an expression of my own beliefs. I believe that what happened with Pamuk was rape. It was against Mary's will, full stop. That being said, I do believe it was a life-changing experience for her that holds great significance in the development of her character over the remainder of the series, so I did want to deal rather extensively with it here. Readers sensitive to content dealing with the emotional aftermath of rape should proceed with caution, however it isn't explicit or overly upsetting. **_

**_Sorry about the rambling, guys. You may now read the chapter. :)_**

* * *

_Chapter 4_

The church service might have been dreadfully uncomfortable, Mary mused, if she actually believed in God, which she wasn't at all sure that she did. She'd expected to feel some nagging sense of shame or remorse - at least more than she usually did - upon entering the hallowed structure now that she was...fallen, one of those unfortunate women who the matrons of society whispered about while shaking their grey heads in judgement. What did they know, anyway? Did they ever think to ask the subjects of their vicious gossip if they'd had any choice in the matter? But, no, she wouldn't indulge in self-pity. In the end, she'd given in, hadn't she? That was all that mattered now. It was done, and there was no point wasting energy on regrets that wouldn't change anything. She'd been to church and back, and no magical scarlet letter had appeared on her chest to give her away. She would survive this. She had to.

So absorbed in her thoughts was Mary, that she almost didn't hear the crunch of the gravel behind her until Matthew was nearly upon her, his rich voice breaking the trance her dark musings had put her in.

"Cousin Mary," he spoke, his brow creased with concern.

She only looked at him expectantly, somehow less annoyed by his presence than she usually was. Perhaps she simply lacked the energy for it.

"If there's ever anything I can do..."

"There isn't, but thank you," she interrupted him, slightly discomforted by his warm, concerned tone. She didn't deserve it. His kindness was completely unnecessary. He was wasting his time.

She chanced one last, long look up at his penetrating gaze before he nodded and turned, thankfully able to discern her desire to be alone. For an uncomfortable moment, she wondered if he could look at her and see it...the impurity. The change. She felt so different now, it had amazed her to see the same visage peering back at her in the glass that morning as every other. Perhaps Matthew's trained eye could see something others didn't. But, whatever he found, his gaze had held nothing of judgement. Only concern.

* * *

The days and weeks passed in a blur as Mary tried to sort through her thoughts and feelings in the wake of that fateful night. In the space of a mere hour, she'd faced the great mystery of life and the harsh reality of death, neither of which she had been in any way prepared for. Her innocence had been ripped from her in more than one way that evening.

She tried desperately hard not to think about it, to erase from her mind's eye the image of the dark skin of his shoulder as he'd covered her, panic rising inside her as the resolve to stop him no matter the cost came far, far too late. And, in the few seconds after he'd cried out and crushed her under his heavy bulk, she'd felt so empty inside, so hollow. So this was the marriage act. This was her lot in life. He'd called her his darling, but she wasn't really. The act itself has been as meaningless and false as the pretense of emotion he'd used to lure her into a deceptive feeling of security before...

For the first time, she realized just how much mutual love and respect were truly qualities to be desired in a marriage. What good were titles, money, or position if she had to face _that _every night - that hollowness deep inside? Perhaps the cruelest part of all was the realization that now she could no longer even hope for a marriage of love, for she could never lie to a man she truly cared for. It would be difficult enough with one she merely respected. She'd learnt what it was to be truly happy and ensured she never would be in the same hour.

Carson had tried to encourage her when she'd said as much to him, and she appreciated his kindness, though she knew all his assurances to be in vain. He couldn't possibly know all that was in her heart and mind, but it had felt good to unburden herself to someone, if only a little. Her own mother didn't seem to understand, and she could hardly burden Anna any further. It seemed that this was a cross she was fated to carry alone.

After almost a month had passed, she'd started to bear up under the strain, though she'd more accepted the pain than erased it. That is, until her mother entered her room one evening after dinner and shattered her insides anew.

"Mary, there's something we need to discuss," Cora half-whispered as she closed the door purposefully behind her.

"What is it?" Mary asked, her impatience already rising.

"Should I leave you alone, your ladyship?" Anna offerred, the brush in her hand stilling in mid-stroke.

"No, Anna, that won't be necessary," Cora answered. "In fact, your assistance may be needed."

Anna nodded and continued her work as Mary sighed expectantly, her eyes meeting her mother's in the mirror. "Yes?" she prompted, infusing her voice with as much boredom and indifference as she could muster to hide the growing sense of foreboding within her.

"It's been three weeks," the countess began, her face unsmiling as she watched her daughter's indifferent expression keenly. "I fear the time has come to discuss...whether or not your actions may have had...consequences."

Mary's gaze snapped up to meet her mother's again, her task of rearranging the various bottles and jars on the vanity before her completely forgotten.

"Consequences?"

Mary's alarm only grew as her mother's face transformed into a soft, patronizing smile. A moment later, the reality of what was being suggested suddenly dawned on her, filling her veins with an icy dread. A rueful laugh escaped as she inwardly berated herself for not realizing the possibility sooner. Of course she knew that the marriage act was performed for the purpose of creating children, only the truth of it had never seemed so real before. How terribly innocent she still was, she thought with a small, sad shake of her head.

"Do you have any reason to believe that..."

"Not yet," Cora interrupted her, "but we need to start watching for signs. When is your next cycle due?"

A hot flush worked its way up Mary's face at the mention of something so private and rarely, if ever, discussed. Her mother had never made mention of such things before, having left it to the nanny to explain to a twelve-year-old Mary that she hadn't contracted some exotic disease. Her eyes automatically sought Anna's, and the dutiful maid sprang into action, walking to the desk in the corner and opening the small pocket calendar.

"Actually, it should begin the day after tomorrow, if my calculations are correct," the maid blushingly answered, her eyes respectfully averted from her mistress' equally red face.

"Good. Then we won't have to wait long."

"For what?" Mary asked, embarrassed and bewildered by the whole business.

Cora placed a hand lightly on Mary's shoulder, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over the smooth silk of her dressing gown.

"A woman's monthly event ceases to come when she's..."

The countess couldn't find it within her to say it aloud, not yet. She didn't have to. Mary understood her well enough.

"I see," Mary responded, rising and drawing herself up to full hight. "Well, in only two days time, we'll know for certain that there's nothing to worry about."

But, despite her assurances, Mary's courses didn't arrive in two days, nor in three. Four days passed, which soon turned into five, then six. Still nothing.

With a heavy heart, Cora strode resolutely to the telephone after seeing Robert off to London on the seventh morning. It was time for Mary to face the music.

* * *

As he pedaled quickly up the gravel path to the big house, Matthew replayed the strange telephone conversation with his countess cousin over in his mind, just trying to make sense of it all. If nobody was ill, why the need for such haste? Why the need for secrecy? He hadn't even been able to tell Dr. Clarkson where he was going. It was all so very odd, and he couldn't help but worry.

Following Cora's directions, he cycled past the main entrance around to the side of the house where, as she'd described, he found a smaller exterior door, one little used or even know of. He dismounted and propped his bicycle against the stone wall just as the door opened, revealing a petite blonde maid who's name he couldn't quite recall.

"Please, come with me, Dr. Crawley," she spoke quietly as she held the door open for him.

Matthew looked curiously about as he entered the darkened hallway in what was an apparently disused part of the house. It was such a large structure that it didn't surprise him that there were parts unused, and he wondered if he could think of a way to ask Robert about it without revealing the clandestine nature of its discovery.

They passed no one as they mounted a narrow, twisting flight of stairs before emerging into a scarlet-carpeted hallway to be greeted by a solemnly smiling Cora.

"Cousin Matthew, thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Of course, Cousin Cora. I only hope there's nothing terribly amiss."

Before the countess could reply, Anna bustled back up the them, addressing them in a soft half-whisper. "Tea is served in your sitting room, your ladyship. And I've checked that there's no one about. Mrs. O'Brien just left to see to that errand you asked her about."

"Thank you, Anna. Please see that Lady Mary is ready."

Anna curtseyed and disappeared into a room a few doors down. Matthew's confusion grew.

"What's this all about, Cousin Cora?" he asked politely, but bluntly. "Why all the secrecy?"

"Come into the sitting room with me, and I'll explain over tea," she offered calmly, gesturing towards the appropriate door.

* * *

Not ten minutes later, Matthew emerged back into the long hallway, his face a mask of pure shock and dismay. His mind almost couldn't process what he'd just been told. Surely this was some sick nightmare from which he would shortly awaken in a cold sweat. Underneath the turmoil of his confused thoughts, a deep-seated ache squeezed at his heart with each beat, but he couldn't analyze it yet. Not yet. Later, in the privacy of his bedroom, he would unpack the whys and wherefores of his deeper feelings, but not now. Now he had to face her - he had to face Mary.

_"I wish we didn't have to burden you with this," _Cora had said_, "but you understand our need to keep things as quiet as possible...so fortunate that your profession allows us to keep this...family...discretion is vital...scandal...ruin...Mary..."_

The words were nothing but a blur in his memory with only the occasional word or phrase standing out amongst the meaningless babble of his thoughts. But he had to focus.

_Don't think, _he commanded himself. _Just do the job you came to do. There'll be time for all of that later. _

Far too little time had passed before he was stood before an open bedroom door - _her _bedroom. He paused to allow Cora to enter in front of him before standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as the blonde maid closed the door behind him. For a long moment, there was only an uncomfortable silence as Matthew tried not to notice how beautiful Mary looked seated in the middle of her bed in a lace dressing down, her long, dark braid resting on her shoulder. No, now was certainly not the time for such thoughts, not when he was there to determine if she carried another man's child. The thought caused an uncomfortable churning in his gut, and he quickly put on his most professional demeanor. It wouldn't do to have anyone see how affected he was by this, most especially the woman seated in bed, her dark eyes meeting his boldly with a look of defiance and stubbornness that he couldn't help but admire even under the circumstances.

"Cousin Mary," he greeted her with an awkward bow, "if I may..." He gestured to the chair beside her bed. She nodded her consent, and he pulled it closer to her side and seated himself, bending to rummage through his bag for his thermometer.

Mary dutifully opened her mouth and allowed him to slip the cold sliver of glass under her tongue before taking a deep, steadying breath through her nose. Though she tried her best to appear nonchalant, she knew her face was as red as the wallpaper. It was mortifying enough having Matthew in her bedroom, seeing her undressed and in so vulnerable a position, but to know that he..._knew_...Surely he would despise her now. She tried to tell herself that she didn't care.

His fingers brushed gently over her wrist, and she started a little.

"Pardon me, Cousin Mary," he spoke softly before touching her again, a little hesitantly this time. His touch was light and gentle as he turned her hand over between his, cradling the back of it in his open palm before placing two fingers on her wrist. His brow creased in concentration, and Mary's face flushed further, knowing her flying pulse would give away her carefully hidden agitation. She watched his face for any sign of recognition, and, when his eyes met hers, there was that look again - that unnerving compassion and concern she'd seen once before.

Matthew dropped her hand as though it had suddenly burned him, resolving firmly not to meet her eyes again. He'd seen a flash of unexpected vulnerability in her expression that had nearly been his undoing. He had to remain focused.

He removed the thermometer from between her pursed lips and quickly read it before stooping again to place it back in his bag.

"Normal," he answered Cora's questioning look quickly before turning back to Mary, his eyes fixed on her dark hair, her delicate hands clasped in her lap, on the crisp white sheets...anywhere but on her face.

"May I ask you a few questions?" he asked, nodding in Mary's general direction.

"If you must," Mary answered, her nerves humming as she wished he would just proceed to the more uncomfortable parts of the examination and have done with it. Was that not to be mortification enough?

"Forgive me, but...when was the first day of your last menstrual cycle?"

Mary closed her eyes in embarrassment, but answered him promptly.

"So, you're only a week late then," Matthew announced after finishing his calculations, his frown visibly lightening with relief.

"Obviously," Mary sighed, her forbearance quickly reaching its limit.

Matthew sighed at her brusque tone, but could hardly blame her for it. He was feeling more than a little strained himself.

"Have there been any other symptoms? Changes in your diet or sleeping habits? Unexplained bouts of illness or weakness, particularly in the mornings?"

"No," she answered firmly.

"Fainting?"

"No."

"Unusual cravings?"

"No." Mary sighed.

"Any..." Matthew felt his ears grow hot. "Any swelling or tenderness of the...breasts."

He couldn't stop his eyes from falling unintentionally on the area mentioned, and he quickly averted them, his embarrassment at this untenable situation growing impossibly deeper.

"Uh...no," Mary answered self-consciously, her fingers twisting together in her lap as she fought the urge to dive beneath the covers and never come out.

"Well then," Matthew spoke at last, rising from his seat to address the whole room. "I see no reason for alarm just yet. Women often experience irregularities in their monthly cycles as a result of great change or unusual stress. I'd say the past months'...event could have been enough to have caused it. As she has no other symptoms and it has been only a week, I see no reason to assume anything yet."

"Is that all?" Cora asked, her expression one of concerned disbelief.

"For now, I'm afraid so," Matthew answered. "It's far too early to tell anything from a physical examination. If things haven't straightened themselves out in two or three weeks time..." His stomach dropped and his voice failed him at the thought of...what he would have to do. God, he hoped it didn't come to that, for both their sakes.

"Very well," the countess relented. "Anna, please make sure Dr. Crawley's way is clear."

The maid bobbed a quick curtsey before disappearing into the hall, leaving Matthew to take his awkward leave of his cousins.

"Cousin Cora...Cousin Mary." He dipped his head in the general direction of the bed, but didn't actually look at the pale form on it. His composure had reached its limit, and he was eager to be out of this accursed house and in the bracing morning air.


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: Sorry about the long wait for this chapter! Thank you all for your support, reviews, and PMs. Special thanks, as always, to Willa Dedalus for her enthusiasm and support. _**

**_Happy Mother's day!_**

* * *

_Chapter 5_

For the next several days, Matthew carried out his duties as if in a fog, never fully in the moment even as he consulted with patients, filled out paperwork, and ordered supplies. Dr. Clarkson took the only urgent case, leaving Matthew to tend the hospital with Isobel that afternoon.

In the quiet of his office, Matthew sat down behind the desk and picked up a pen, pretending to go over his list of house calls for the next morning as he allowed his mind to wander to the place he most wished to keep it from, yet found himself continually unable to avoid. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as the low-grade headache that had plagued him since that first sleepless night reasserted itself, forcing him to contemplate opening the medicine cabinet for yet another aspirin powder. Not that it would do him any good.

With a sigh, he cradled his head in his hands as he leaned over the desk, staring down at the scrambled letters on the paper unseeingly as his heart lodged itself chokingly in his throat. He hadn't seen Mary since the morning he'd been called to the Abbey, but he knew he couldn't avoid her forever. Sooner or later, he'd have to face her again. From what he'd seen of his stoic cousin thus far in their acquaintance, he had every faith in her ability to keep her countenance in front of the family, but none whatsoever in his own. To make matters worse, Robert had sent a note that morning asking that he meet with him later that evening to look over some of the vacant cottages on the estate, which Matthew would, under normal circumstances, be more than happy to do. But now, knowing what he did...How could he look Robert in the eye, all the while the knowledge of his mentor's ignorance of his eldest daughter's true character burning him from the inside out?

Despite the overwhelming evidence before him, something inside Matthew revolted against such thoughts. In the months since his arrival at Downton, he'd thought he'd formed a fairly accurate picture of who Mary was, of who she _really_ was underneath the proud facade she put forth. He'd seen glimpses of hurt cross her features as her father brushed her aside in favor of himself. Bitterness and anger he'd also seen, but who could possibly blame her for feeling thus? And, even so, she'd shown him kindness on occasion. A few times she'd smiled at him, laughed with him. Shown him that sparkling wit and intelligence he found so deeply attractive.

Matthew had to admit now that he'd formed a very idealized picture of Mary in his romantic mind. Only a few days ago, she had been a woman without equal, beautiful and stoic and intriguing with more depth and complexity than any person he had ever known. But now, he'd discovered a shade in her character. She'd allowed a man into her bed, had succumbed to a temptation he himself had avoided without much trouble for all of his twenty-five years. And, for the life of him, he couldn't imagine _why._ Nothing he'd seen in her had ever led him to believe her so shamelessly wanton. No, there must be some other explanation. Perhaps she'd been secretly engaged to the unfortunate gentleman. Perhaps...perhaps she'd loved him.

A fresh wave of pain washed over him at the thought. He supposed he may as well admit that he himself had been in love with her, or perilously close to it, before. What other explanation was there? Having never even been close to falling in love before meeting Mary, Matthew wasn't entirely certain, but what other explanation was there for the frequency of her appearance in his thoughts? for the crushing grief he now felt as he mourned the loss of something he'd never had any hope of attaining?

Even more pressing, what did these feelings mean now that he...knew? He was determined to put them aside for good. They'd been foolish before, and they were even more foolish now. The Mary he'd thought he had known was an unattainable dream and would always remain thus. He could only accept the difficult truth and move on. He couldn't regret her forever. He _wouldn't._

"_Stupid, stupid,_" he chastened himself under his breath, shaking his head slightly at his own foolish thoughts.

"Knock, knock."

His head jerked up at the sound of his mother's voice.

"Yes."

Isobel leaned on the door frame, smiling at her troubled son whom she'd been watching quietly for the past minute or so. He'd been out of sorts for several days, and she was beginning to worry. He could only plead a headache as his excuse for so long.

"I think we can release Mr. Cooper now," she continued calmly. "Would you like to come take a look?"

"Um...yes. Yes, of course." Matthew quickly stood and slipped into his lab coat, draping his stethoscope around his neck before following his mother from the room.

After giving a clean bill of heath and checking on the three other patients currently staying at the hospital, Matthew returned to his office, having been granted a brief reprieve from his intuitive mother's inevitable questioning by the arrival of a child with a badly scraped knee. Rather than returning to his desk, he moved to the small window and looked out into the hospital's garden, his thoughts returning almost immediately to the place where they'd left off.

More than anything, he wished to simply put thoughts of Mary and the entire terrible ordeal from his mind for good, but the possibility still existed that, should her courses not return soon, further examination of her person might be required to determine if the family would need to take expedient measures to conceal her condition from society. The very thought made him feel ill. Perhaps, when the time came, he could be truly indisposed, and Dr. Clarkson would have to do it. But, no. His family's honor was at stake here. He had a duty to them, to Edith and to sweet, young Sybil, to protect their futures, which would be irreversibly effected should their elder sister's mistake become common knowledge. He couldn't possibly shirk this duty.

"It's almost four," Isobel spoke cheerfully as she entered the quiet office, once again breaking Matthew's dark reverie. "The night nurse should be arriving any moment now."

Matthew only grunted in response. Release from his duties for the day wasn't the welcome relief it usually was, as, very shortly, he would have to face Robert.

"Would you prefer to talk about it now or later?" Isobel continued.

"Later," he huffed with a heavy sigh.

* * *

Somehow, Matthew managed to get through his appointment with Robert without giving himself entirely away. His trusting cousin had readily accepted that he'd had some bad beef at lunch as his excuse for being a bit out of sorts.

"Tell me, Matthew," Robert spoke nonchalantly as they strolled side by side across the verdant landscape, "what does a doctor do when he falls ill? Does he call for another doctor, or does he treat himself?"

Matthew's brow creased as his mind conjured an image of the simple embroidered plaque hanging on the wall of his office. Three small words that his father had passed down to him. Words he tried to live by.

"When my father died," Matthew answered contemplatively, "he left me a plaque that his father had left to him. It reads '_cura te ipsum,' _which is Latin for 'cure yourself.' Underneath the words is the reference, Luke 4:23, in which Jesus admonishes the physician, Luke, to heal himself."

There was a brief pause as both men stopped to watch a falcon soar gracefully over the horizon.

"Did your father ever tell you what it meant?" Robert eventually asked.

"He said it was something I'd have to learn for myself."

"And have you?"

Matthew was quiet for a moment as he contemplated his answer.

"I suppose it means exactly what it says. If a doctor cannot even cure himself, what good is he to anyone else?"

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose." Robert draped a fatherly arm around Matthew's shoulders as the pair continued on.

* * *

The next morning saw a bleary-eyed Matthew trudging down the stairs to the breakfast room, a deep yawn escaping him as he briefly fantasized about the several cups of strong, black coffee that awaited him. Last night had been the first night all week during which he'd actually slept well. It seemed terribly unfair that he should be even wearier than usual because of it.

He hadn't expected to sleep well at all after fending off his mother's frequent inquiries after dinner the previous evening. In the end, he'd freely admitted, simply to appease her, that something to do with one of his patients was troubling him, but of course he couldn't tell her what or who as that would be violating his patient's confidence. She seemed to accept this, but the little worry lines around her eyes didn't slacken.

Once alone in his room, he hadn't been able to keep his thoughts from wandering back to Mary's situation. His mind had been full of her ever since he'd caught a brief glimpse of her graceful form walking on the front lawn as he'd strolled past with Robert. She hadn't noticed him, giving him leave to observe her openly for a moment. Her dark head was held high, despite it all, though he thought he detected a certain lack of bounce in her slow gait.

The image had softened something inside him towards her. All this time, he'd thought only of how the knowledge of her indiscretion had affected him, but he knew she had to be suffering. It must have been awful to have her lover die so unexpectedly, and then to be unable to truly grieve the loss as it must all remain a closely kept secret. And, of course, she must be worried about her future. If she were found to be with child, she would be forced to leave the home she so clearly loved to live among distant relatives or strangers, possibly never able to return. Either that or she must give up her child, something he couldn't quite imagine Mary capable of. Such a sad future for so singular a woman.

Of course, he couldn't condone what she'd done. It was wrong, and there were consequences she must face. But must she pay for the rest of her life for one night of impaired judgement? It didn't seem right to Matthew that she should. But, should she be found to be with child or, heaven forbid, her incident should become common knowledge, her marriage prospects would be virtually nonexistent. She would always have a home at Downton once it was his, he resolved. Yet, somehow, the life of a ruined spinster cousin forced to live on the charity of relatives wasn't something he could envisage for her without deep regret. No, there must be some other way.

And, with that, his resolution was formed. If there were any possible way for him to give Downton to Mary, he would find it out and do it. He couldn't, in good conscience, take what was rightfully her home without at least making a solid effort. He'd never wanted the life of an estate owner anyway, so it was no great loss to him. Even if Mary never married, she would have security. He had no doubt she was more than capable of running the estate on her own, when the time came - something he wasn't at all confident about when it came to his own ability. Yes, it would be best all around if the estate passed to Mary, as it rightfully should.

His newfound resolve having been made, Matthew's mind quieted, and he was finally able to rest.

* * *

"Dr. Matthew Crawley, your ladyship."

Violet arched one silvered brown in a gesture reminiscent of her eldest granddaughter as Matthew entered her sitting room.

"Cousin Matthew," she greeted him, rising and setting her book aside. "I know I'm old, but I hope I'm not so senile as to forget an appointment."

"Not at all, Cousin Violet," Matthew responded with a bashful smile. "I do hope I'm not intruding."

"No, no, young man. Not at all. It's been quite some time since I've had a gentleman caller."

"I find that hard to believe." Matthew chuckled softly before reaching for Violet's hand, which he gallantly kissed. Since his arrival at Downton, Matthew had grown increasingly fond of the dowager. She possessed many of those special qualities - the same wit, spark, and intelligence - that he so admired in Mary, and the same dogged determination he found so endearing in his mother. The two matrons hadn't seen exactly eye to eye, but Matthew was certain it was because they were so alike. Their backgrounds were different, but their temperaments were much more similar than either was every likely to acknowledge. Perhaps that was why he had come to feel such an affinity for his older cousin through his frequent visits to see to her hay fever and her rheumatism and her ingrown toenails; even a brief episode of gout she'd sworn him to absolute secrecy over.

"Oh, come now," Violet tisked as she playfully batted his hand away. "Stop flattering an old woman and sit down. I'll ring for some tea."

Several minutes later, Violet sat quietly sipping her tea as she watched her pensive caller enjoy the lemon cake with chocolate cream she always had her cook prepare for his visits. Fortunately, there had been some left from the previous week, as she knew it was his favorite. What a peculiar young man her son's heir was, she thought. So easily delighted by life's simplest of pleasures. She was sure she'd never seen anyone smile while chewing before.

At first she'd been put off by his less than perfect manners, but she couldn't deny that she'd developed a soft spot for the young man. He was invariably gentle and kind when called upon to attend to her various ailments, always respectful and concerned beyond even what was expected of a doctor. Even when, in her frustration, she'd abused him rather unjustly, he'd remained the same, though she'd seen the hurt in his expressive blue eyes. He was a tender young thing, not unlike her own son. Robert had always been softhearted. When he was young, she'd hoped he would grow out of it, but he never had. Now, she was glad of it, for she'd realized he wasn't so different from herself as she'd thought for all these years. Only, as a man, he was at liberty to show it, whereas she could never afford to.

"Well, young man, you may as well tell me the reason you're here." She placed her teacup back on the tray before folding her hands in her lap, unconsciously assuming her characteristic straight-backed posture that communicated that she would brook no argument. "You didn't come just to visit with me. I suspect you've got someone more beautiful, and much younger, on your mind."

Matthew swallowed heavily and regretfully set his place aside.

"Cousin Violet..." he began before pausing for a long moment, searching for the right words. "You're not incorrect. I'm here to speak with you about Mar...erh..._Cousin_ Mary."

Violet smiled knowingly. "As I suspected. Cora told me of you knowledge of Mary's predicament." Her smile faded a little as she glanced briefly down at her hands.

"So you know then," Matthew observed softly.

"My daughter-in-law sought my advice," Violet explained. "If Mary is indeed expecting, arrangements will have to be made, and fast."

"Yes, well...I'll need a few more weeks to know for sure, so the two of you have ample time to plan." Matthew felt his stomach drop, and he averted his eyes from his cousin's knowing gaze. Again, he tried to force his feelings aside. They were all but laughable now, and completely untrustworthy. "What I was wondering," he continued, "is if you think it might be a good idea to...to explore the matter of the entail in a little more depth."

"What are you saying?" Violet asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

"I cannot, in good conscience, allow Mary to be passed over without exploring every possibility, especially if..."

"If her future turns out to be in jeopardy," Violet finished his thought. "Perhaps, if she came with an estate and a not inconsiderable fortune, some desperate soul might even be convinced to marry her."

"I hadn't thought of that," Matthew mused, nodding his head slightly. "Yes, perhaps you're right." His brows pulled together as he looked down at the carpet. The thought of some "desperate soul" marrying Mary for her wealth didn't sit any better with him than having her live on his charity. But, he supposed, Mary would probably prefer the former than the later, and, of course, she wouldn't _have_ to marry unless she wanted to. That was a small comfort.

Matthew sucked in a deep breath, schooled his features into the most business-like expression he could manage, and continued, "I know a solicitor in London, an old friend of my father's - Reggie Swire - who might be willing to help. He's a man of integrity. I trust that he would do all he could to be of assistance."

"Well, if you've got it all figured out, why do you need me?" Violet asked, slightly bemused.

"I was concerned...that Cousin Robert might not approve..."

"Oh, you just leave my son to me," Violet spoke succinctly.

"I don't want him to think me ungrateful."

"Certainly not." There was a brief pause as Violet's eyes narrowed conspiratorially. "Besides, there's no reason for him to know it was your idea. Robert knows I've whole-heartedly taken up Mary's cause. No slight intended to you, of course."

"I understand. You needn't apologize," Matthew was quick to reassure her. "Mary is your granddaughter, and...it's only right."

Violet nodded and reached to refresh their cups of tea.

"So tell me, when do you intend to meet with this Mr. Swire?"

"As soon as possible, I suppose. I'll telephone his office tomorrow morning," Matthew answered.

"Be sure to let me know when he's available," Violet added with a smirk, "because I'm coming with you."

* * *

Four days later, Matthew found himself accompanying the dowager countess to London and back. He sighed wearily as he made his way carefully back from the dining car with a glass of seltzer water for his traveling companion. He'd insisted on fetching it himself, as he was hardly in the mood to sit idly after the day's disappointing news. All too soon, he'd arrived back at their first class compartment.

"Here you are," he spoke as pleasantly as he could manage as he handed an exhausted-looking Violet her drink.

"Thank you, my boy. Train travel never has full agreed with me. All this rumbling and lurching."

Matthew only nodded in response, closing the door behind him before returning to his seat. He leaned heavily against the window and peered out unseeingly at the blurry landscape, unconsciously worrying his lower lip with his finger. He started a little when Violet broke the silence.

"I'm far too worn out to do anything but go straight to bed when we return to Downton, so I'll have to send my excuses for dinner. Mary will simply have to be patient until tomorrow night...unless you want to give her the news on your own. No doubt, she won't let you leave until you do."

Matthew's eyes widened.

"You mean you told her about this?"

Violet nodded defiantly.

"But surely you knew there was a chance it wouldn't work out in her favor. Would it not have been kinder to have spared her the disappointment?"

"I thought Mary deserved to know just what kind of man she had rejected."

Dumbfounded, Matthew stared blankly at the dowager for a moment before stammering a request to know what she'd meant.

"When you first arrived," she explained, "I told Mary that she should simply marry you. It was the easiest solution to her problem, after all. But she would have none of it. I must admit, I admired her for it, however mistaken she turned out to be about you."

"That's kind, Cousin Violet, but she may not have been as mistaken as you think." Matthew felt his ears grow hot and the memory his their first meeting when he'd insulted Mary without even realizing it. How foolish he'd been. "Besides, I suppose she already had plans with that Turkish gentleman."

"Not at all," Violet rebutted, "but let's not muddy the waters by bringing _him _into the conversation."

Matthew sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I think that Mary truly hates the idea of marrying for expediency," Violet spoke softly. "I know you must have the opposite impression, and she probably wouldn't even admit it to herself. After all, she's been conditioned her whole life to expect it."

There was a brief pause as Matthew contemplated her words. It was true, he hadn't thought of it that way, but it seemed to line up with what he'd pieced together of Mary's character from their brief acquaintance.

"Oh, she goes through the motions, but, deep down," Violet continued, her voice soft with affection, "I think she's holding out for something more."

* * *

When he finally arrived back at Crawley House, Matthew was in a near daze from the disappointment of the day and the dismal prospect of having to break the news to Mary. Not to mention everything else regarding that same lady that had already been weighing on his mind. He wished he too could beg off dinner, but Violet was right. Mary would want to know - she deserved to know - as soon as possible.

"How was you trip, dear?" Isobel asked solicitously as she accepted his kiss on the cheek.

"Disappointing," he answered honestly, knowing no more explanation was needed. His mother already knew why he'd gone to London, though she didn't know the truth about why it had been so important to him. It would have been impossible to keep _everything _from her.

Sensing that Matthew wasn't ready to speak further of it just yet, Isobel only patted his arm gently. "How was Mr. Swire? Did you happen to see Lavinia while you were there?"

"He seemed to be doing alright. And, no, I didn't," he answered briefly. "Now, if you don't mind, Mother, I'd like to go freshen up."

"Of course, dear."

Matthew turned towards the stairs, but quickly stopped as his mother called him back.

"Just a moment, Matthew. A note came for you from the Abbey. Let me just fetch it for you."

He groaned inwardly at the delay, but thanked her respectfully before mounting the stairs. Once in his bedroom, he dropped the sealed note on the bed and went immediately to the wash basin. The cool water felt wonderfully refreshing on his face and neck. He shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie before sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. As he sat down, the crunch of the paper reminded him of the briefly forgotten note. With a sigh, he broke the seal, flipping the paper open to reveal a flowing, feminine hand.

_Cousin Matthew,_

_This is to inform you that no further evaluation will be necessary regarding the situation I consulted you about. Things have resolved themselves, as we'd hoped._

_Your cousin, Cora _

* * *

_Well, there you have it. No baby Pamuk in this AU. _

_It was sad to write a whole chapter with no Mary in it. I promise the next one will have a good bit of her POV to make up for it. _

_Thoughts? ;)_


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: Sorry for the long wait for this chapter! And thank you so much for the Highclere Awards nominations. I'm always so touched by your support. :D_**

* * *

_Chapter 6_

Mary was down uncharacteristically early for dinner, having gone up to begin dressing almost a half hour before the gong. She'd spent most of the day trying to distract her mind without notable success. A large part of her wished she'd been able to accompany her grandmother and Matthew to London, while the more rational part knew it wouldn't have been practical if her father was to be kept ignorant for the time being. She hated the thought of going behind his back, but not enough to risk their efforts. Now, the wait to learn the course of her future was nearly interminable. Just that morning, one burden had been lifted from her shoulders only to be replaced by another. Would it never end? Would her life never truly be her own to live?

She knew the answers, as much as she hated the truth of them. To be a woman was to be carried along by the current of a world shaped and moulded by men. One had to be clever to survive, but even that wouldn't be enough if she didn't have her father's support. Oh, she could find some way to make a life for herself independent of Downton, she was sure. But Mary still clung, in the deepest part of her heart, to the time-honored traditions - those things that had shaped her family and, therefore, herself through the generations before her. Even though things could be so dreadfully unfair at times.

She'd told her mother that the world was changing, and she believed it to be true. That was the choice before her, wasn't it? To be swept away on the tide of the coming new world or to stay rooted where she was like the old cedar tree she so often found refuge under, though it would mean being battered and beaten by the winds that blew beyond her control.

Mary wasn't yet one and twenty, but her youth hadn't spared her the harsh truth that life was far from fair, even for one of the privileged few. It could turn upside down in a moment, or even be snatched away. It offered joy and sorrow indiscriminately, and granted good fortune to some at the expense of others, whether deserving or not. But there was no use fighting it. That was the way of things, and, though she might sometimes give way to the clawing bitterness that threatened to eat her from the inside out, she knew there was no use fighting it. She could have no more success than a nat buzzing around the ears of one of her father's horses, only to be brushed aside almost unnoticed. And the one person who could fight for her wouldn't. That stung far more than even the thought of losing Downton. Above all else, Mary prized loyalty, and she couldn't help but feel betrayed by her father's calm acceptance of something that touched her so deeply.

But, today, someone had fought for her. Her brave Granny, fearless in the face of any and all opposition, and...Matthew. She simply couldn't understand it. Why, after everything he now knew about her - after she'd been so cold and even intentionally unwelcoming to him - would he choose to take up her cause? She was grateful even as her pride revolted and confusion muddled her usually clear thoughts. But, tonight, as she paced before the open parlor windows, the turmoil in her mind found focus in a single question: Had they been successful? She would sort out all the rest later, but the hope that she might, even that very evening, learn that, no matter what else might change in the future, her anchor was secure as the cedar's deeply planted roots. Planted unwaveringly in the land and the legacy she loved.

It wasn't perfect happiness, but it was a start. It was all she had any right to ask for.

"Mary, dear, you're down early."

She turned at the sound of her father's voice and offered him a dutiful smile. The awful truth was, no matter how he might disappoint her, he was still her father - her Papa - and she knew that she would always love him. Mary Crawley's love wasn't a commodity to be bought like a trinket or lost like a misplaced bet. Like all things worth having, it wasn't easily or quickly won, and, once given, would remain forever steadfast.

"I thought I might have a word with Granny before dinner," she explained honestly. "She usually arrives a bit early."

"Oh, your grandmother isn't coming to dinner," Robert added hastily.

Mary's eyebrows rose in alarm.

"Not coming?"

"She sent a note 'round earlier today. I'm surprised your mother didn't mention it to you."

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Mary turned back towards the window.

"Are Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel still coming?" she asked after a moment's silent contemplation, trying to sound as cooly disinterested as possible.

"Of course," came her father's answer. "Why wouldn't they be?"

Mary only shrugged in response, taking a brief moment to fix her haughty mask in place before turning away from the window to take a seat on the plush settee.

One by one, the family trickled in, each taking a seat and chatting amiably about mundane things. The conversation couldn't possibly hold Mary's interest, and, fearing someone would notice her distraction, she forced herself to nod and add her two bits here and there, though she would never be able to repeat anything that was said. She could only hope her performance was convincing.

Apparently, it was, for nobody, not even her astute mother, questioned her. Soon enough, the parlor doors opened, and Carson entered to announce Matthew and Isobel.

Mary's eyes immediately fixed on Matthew's face, as if she hoped to read the results of the day's inquiry printed across his brow. His eyes sought her as well, and their gazes locked for a charged moment before each quickly directed their eyes elsewhere.

Dinner felt interminable to Mary, each course seeming to come slower than the last as she counted them with rising impatience. It certainly didn't help that Matthew was seated beside her. They were forced to make polite small talk, all the while remaining tangibly aware of the great mystery that hung in the air between them. And then there was also her secret. The fact that Matthew _knew_ didn't escape her awareness for even a single moment, but she forced herself to look him in the eye when they spoke, her head head regally high. She wouldn't allow herself to be cowed by what he might think of her. She told herself that his opinion mattered little to her, but she knew that wasn't entirely true. Confusion about his motives for wishing to investigate the entail of his own accord continually reasserted itself. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at his profile out of the corner of her eye, wishing her gaze could penetrate the inner workings of his mind. Not that she could expect to fathom the motives of someone so far removed from the way she'd been brought up to think. They were worlds apart.

"Cousin Mary," he spoke quietly, his gaze flitting very briefly in her direction, "excuse yourself and wait in the library after dinner." His voice was so quiet, she had to strain to make out the words. His eyes circled round the dinner table, reassuring himself that no one was paying them any mind. "I'll pretend to leave with a headache."

Now it was Mary's turn to glance around at the faces surrounding them, her eyes narrowing as they met Edith's disdainful gaze. She quirked an eyebrow at her obviously jealous sister and raised her wine glass elegantly to her lips, the picture of nonchalance. Edith wasn't seated close enough to have possibly heard what was said between them. She was merely jealous that Mary had been seated next to Matthew rather than her. It had become clear over the months since their cousin arrived that Edith was fixed on having him for herself. To Mary's great pleasure, he showed even less interest in her sister than he did in country sports.

The pudding course finally arrived, and Mary breathed a subtle sigh of relief. The minutes inched by at an agonizingly slow pace until her mother rose, signaling that the time had finally arrived for the ladies to excuse themselves, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars. As she rose with meticulous slowness, Mary purposefully avoided glancing in Matthew's direction, fearful of drawing notice and thwarting their plans. She was glad that the coldness of their relationship would mean no one would suspect anything. Their simultaneous withdrawal would be chalked up to mere coincidence.

Mary lingered for only a brief moment in the drawing room before turning to her mother and saying, "I'm afraid I've got a bit of a headache. If you don't mind, I think I'll retire early."

"Oh, darling, of course," Cora responded with motherly concern, at which Mary had suppress an involuntary eye roll, suspecting her mother's worry was exaggerated for Isobel's benefit. "I'll have Carson send you up some aspirin powder."

Panic momentarily shook Mary's composure, but she recovered with characteristic quickness.

"That won't be necessary. I'll ask Anna to bring some up after I'm in bed."

Cora nodded, smiling condescendingly at her eldest daughter, before turning back to their guest. As Mary said her goodnights to the rest of the party, she couldn't help but notice a little triumphant smile twist Edith's thin lips unattractively at the idea, Mary assumed, of having Cousin Matthew to herself for the rest of the evening. It was a pity she wouldn't be around to see her sister disappointed.

Mary walked with carefully measured step out into the hall, pausing for a moment after the door closed behind her to ensure that no one was about. Before she could lose her nerve and decide to truly head up to bed, she strode quickly in the direction of the library, slipping in without a sound and closing the door behind her.

She started to move back and forth between the darkened windows before realizing it wouldn't do to be caught pacing when Matthew arrived and settling in to her father's arm chair. The clock on the mantle ticked away the seconds as she twisted her gloved hands in her lap, a sigh escaping her as she wondered what was keeping Matthew. After what seemed an eternity, a soft, tentative knock broke through the quiet of the room. Mary rolled her eyes, but bid him enter.

The door swung slowly open, and Matthew stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him, careful not to make a sound. Determined not to seem too eager, Mary straightened her spine and looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to divulge her fate. To her frustration, Matthew seemed in no hurry. He licked his lips and shuffled his feet uneasily before running his hand over his hair, displacing several strands that flopped haphazardly over his forehead. At length, he cleared his throat and fixed his gaze determinately on her face, his eyes wide as if he had to forcefully hold them there. His cheeks pinked as he opened and closed his mouth several times, his hands fisting at his sides.

Mary sighed inwardly at his sudden loss for words She wanted to scream at him, to cross the room in two strides and shake the information she wanted out of him, but would only allow herself a subtle quirk of her brow.

"I..." Matthew began, breaking eye contact with her for a moment before forcing himself to return her questioning gaze. "I wish I could say I had good news for you."

Mary's heart sank, but she remained frozen in place in the chair.

"So, it can't be undone, then." It wasn't a question. She could see the pity in his eyes, and it stung more than she could possibly allow to show.

"Not under the current circumstances," Matthew answered, his tongue loosened now that the most difficult part of his news had been shared. It was a familiar feeling, one that he contended with almost daily. It was easy to explain the prognosis once he'd managed to say it wasn't good. "Mr. Swire explained that we'd...Well, there'd need to be some kind of trouble with the estate for it to work."

Mary's brow creased in confusion, and Matthew rummaged in the pockets of his tailcoat, producing several folded papers.

"I wasn't at all confident in my ability to explain it satisfactorily, so I had him write it out." He handed the papers to Mary who opened them quickly, her facade momentarily slipping in her eagerness to see the solicitor's findings for herself, hoping that, somehow, Matthew had got it wrong, that she would see a way where he didn't. After only a few moments, though, it became clear that her hope had been misplaced. She looked up at Matthew, who had been standing patiently in place as she read.

"We'd need a private bill in parliament," she mused aloud, and Matthew nodded his agreement to her assessment.

"The estate would have to be in danger for it to have any chance of succeeding, which it's not," he added. Mary studied his face intently, trying to gauge his feelings.

She folded the papers with deliberate slowness, needing the distraction of her small task to rein in her disappointment.

"Well, that's that, I suppose," she breathed as she handed the folded sheets back to him. "Now you can say you've done your duty, without having lost anything."

He had the nerve to appear offended.

"If it makes you feel better to believe that..."

Mary breathed a heavy sigh at his clipped statement, closing her eyes as if fighting back a real headache.

"I'm sorry," she spoke, to Matthew's obvious astonishment. "I suppose I should be thanking you."

Pleased that she'd managed to sound only a little bitter, Mary stood, chin held high as she faced him with determined grace.

Matthew's eyes seemed strangely unfocused as they met hers, and his former speechlessness seemed to have returned.

"Oh, no...No, you...you don't need to thank me. It was...only right."

"Nevertheless," Mary shot back, "thank you for trying. It has become painfully clear that I mean nothing in all this."

"On the contrary, you mean a great deal." Mary's eyes locked on his face, seeing, by his look of surprise, that he'd said more than he meant to. "A very...great deal," he repeated, an expression she thought might be genuine concern settling over his face. His eyes held hers for a heavy moment, and, for the first time, she truly noticed the blueness of them. But the thought lasted for only a brief second before she blinked and returned her focus to ending their fruitless interview so she could retreat to the solitude of her bedroom to lick her wounds. She would only allow herself to do so for this one night, so she'd need to make the most of it.

"Then that will be my consolation prize," she responded as bravely as she could manage. Without knowing what had possessed her to do so, she offered her hand to Matthew, who hesitated for only a moment before taking it in his much larger one. The warmth of his skin reached her through the silk of her glove, causing an odd flutter around her heart that she didn't care to think on too closely. Her eyes found his again, and, for possibly the thousandth time that evening, she wondered what he was thinking. Was he disgusted by her touch? Did he think her brazen? She realized he had every right to, and the thought only made her raise her chin higher.

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but his intended words would forever remain a mystery to Mary, as the door swung open before they could take form, revealing her very surprised father.

* * *

The library door closed behind Mary with an ominous click. Matthew seated himself where Robert had indicated in the chair beside the desk, wiping his dampening palms on his trousers. The crinkle of paper reminded him of the notes he still held in his hand. He briefly contemplated stuffing them back in his pocket, but decided against it. Robert had every right to see them, to know what he was about. Matthew chewed his lower lip in consternation as he listened to the slow approach of his mentor's footsteps behind him.

This was what he'd feared when he had first taken his idea to Cousin Violet. _She_ was supposed to be the one explaining to Robert, not him. He couldn't help but feel mildly betrayed, though he supposed she couldn't help being indisposed after their long day. With her rheumatism, he would have advised her to remain in bed if she hadn't announced her intention to do so before he'd had a chance. He could hardly blame her.

The chair behind the desk creaked as Robert seated himself in it, his brow deeply creased with concern.

"Well, my boy, this certainly is a surprise," the older man spoke, finally breaking the tense silence. Matthew made no response. He only peered sheepishly up at Robert through the veil of his pale lashes. "Don't get me wrong, it isn't that I'm not pleased. Quite the contrary. I've hoped for this moment."

Matthew's brows pulled together in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but Robert continued, "I only didn't expect it to come so soon. I thought, perhaps, you two would wish to know each other better before setting things. There's plenty of time."

Upon seeing the younger man's startled expression, Robert's frown softened into a fond smile. "You mustn't worry, lad. Of course I won't withhold my blessing. I'm only a bit concerned that..."

"Cousin Robert," Matthew interrupted, "are...are we...speaking of the same thing? I don't understand."

Robert's cheerful grin quickly darkened into an angry glare, which he fixed intimidatingly on Matthew.

"Are you implying that what I just walked in on was _not_ a proposal of marriage?"

Matthew's breath left his lungs with a strangled cough, his airways constricting with worry at the murderous gleam in Robert's eye. He held up both hands, whether in a sign of surrender or to ward off the blow he half feared was shortly to follow, he couldn't have said.

"Please, Cousin Robert. I assure you, there's been some mistake." Matthew paused, seeing the earlier scene through the eyes of Mary's father. They'd been holding hands, alone in a room where neither of them was meant to be. Of course Robert was concerned. "It wasn't...what it looked like," he explained lamely, a bashful flush creeping up his neck and warming his ears, belying his claim to innocence. The truth was that, standing so close to Mary, her slender fingers enclosed in his, his thoughts had been anything but innocent. After all Mary had been through, perhaps Robert was right to berate him. He inwardly berated himself.

"What I saw," Robert began forcefully, "were two people, standing too close together, who snuck off under false pretenses to be alone and couldn't seem to jump apart fast enough when the door opened. I don't know about _your_ kind, but among _our _kind of people, young man, _that_ looks like a proposal of marriage!"

Robert's face had turned an alarming shade of red by the time he'd finished speaking, and Matthew could only sit in open-mouthed astonishment. That was the first time his new friend had spoken to him as though he viewed him as an inferior, and the blow didn't fail to hit its mark. Robert must have seen the hurt in Matthew's expression, for, when he spoke again, his tone was significantly softened.

"Surely you understand why I have to be so firm about this. What if it hadn't been me who entered? What if a servant had happened upon the two of you? Mary's reputation could have been harmed."

Matthew's face grew even hotter as he realized that this wasn't the first time Mary had found herself alone in a room with a man, and it was only by pure luck that her reputation hadn't been completely destroyed that time. He was ashamed of himself for risking it further. He should have known better.

"I'm sorry, Robert," he sighed, genuine contrition weighing him down, making his shoulders sag.

Robert nodded graciously, though his eyes, still fixed expectantly on Matthew's face, demanded something more. Smoothing the papers he'd accidentally crumpled in his clenched fist, Matthew took a deep breath and handed them over to Robert.

"What's this?" the older man asked, placing the wrinkled sheets on the desk in front of him.

Matthew took a deep, fortifying breath, and confessed, carefully omitting anything that hinted at Mary's indiscretion.

"Robert, I do hope you don't think me ungrateful," he concluded as Robert stared solemnly at the unfolded paperwork in front of him. "I've come to think of you as a dear friend, and would hate to see anything mar that friendship."

With a weary sigh, Robert relaxed against the back of his chair, his hands dropping limply onto his thighs.

"And I already think of you as a son," he confessed quietly, a small, sentimental smile tugging at his lips. "I must admit, I'm disappointed you have no immediate plans to make this a reality."

Matthew shook his head sadly, running a hand through his already mussed hair.

"Things between Mary and I are...complicated."

Recognizing a turn in the conversation that he had no interest in perusing, Robert rose quickly to his feet. Matters of the heart had never been his forte, and he was more than willing to simply allow young love to follow its natural course.

"Well...I'm sure things will straighten themselves out, in time." Patting Matthew firmly on the back, Robert steered him in the direction of the door. "Now, you'd best be off before someone else realizes you're still here. The ladies are liable to send out a search party for me any moment now. I only came in here to retrieve a book for your mother to borrow."

"Thank you, Robert, for being so understanding about all this."

"You're most welcome, Matthew. Don't mention it."

Both men paused in the empty hall, each eyeing the other expectantly until Matthew broke the brief, tense silence.

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Matthew."

With a final nod and half smile directed at Robert, Matthew turned towards the front door, increasing his pace as a feminine voice exclaiming, "Robert, there you are! We've been wondering where you'd got off to," reached his ears. He watched through the glass in the entryway as he donned his hand and coat as Robert cooly greeted the ladies and allowed himself to be led back to the drawing room before slipping out into the cool evening air.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hi, everyone! I do you you'll forgive the delay!_

* * *

_Chapter 7_

It seemed strange, after the turmoil that had plagued him since Mary's incident, that life should return to normal again, but it did. For the next several days following his failed mission, Matthew kept his regular hours at the hospital, paid house calls, and went home to Crawley House every evening to sit across the dinner table from his mother who could see that something bothered him still but knew better than to ask. Patient confidentiality, he'd insist. It was an easy excuse to give for something that he knew he would never be able to put into words should he try. He hardly knew what it was he was feeling, only that his dark-eyed cousin was its source.

In an attempt to lighten his own somber mood one evening, he hung up his lab coat and took a detour to the recently arrived annual fair before heading home. Somehow, it didn't surprise him that one of the first sights to catch his eye was a willowy shape in cornflower blue standing aloof in the crowd of laughing fairgoers. Though her head and shoulders were held regally high, there was something sad about her demeanor, subdued, and, when she turned and caught his gaze, her smile of recognition didn't quite reach her eyes.

He returned her smile with a grin of his own and made his way, almost without thought, to her side, subconsciously maneuvering so that his bicycle wouldn't be between them. A familiar flush crept up his neck, heating his ears, at the thought of her - of what he now knew. Of what _she_ _knew _that he knew. But that wasn't all. He blushed because she was so beautiful, so alluring even in her quiet sadness and resignation. He blushed because he'd dreamt of her last night, of the long, soft strands of her dark hair slipping through his fingers as he'd tasted the creamy silk of her long neck. And then, in his dream, she had smiled. How he wished to see that smile in his waking life!

Oh, there was a part of him that wanted to fall at her feet and worship her. He'd never known anyone like her. So perfect in her own imperfection. Mary was such a mystery; strong and fearless in a way he'd never been, yet she seemed to feel things more deeply than most. And he wanted to know _why._ Such a lady in every true sense of the word, why would she have allowed...what she had allowed? Perhaps she'd been the victim of a tragic romance, and a great well of passion stirred just beneath that polished exterior. If it had been love, then how could he fault her? Or what if that wasn't it? Perhaps she'd felt so overwhelmed by the unfairness that seemed to assault her at every turn that she'd lashed out in the only way she could think of, only to come to regret it later. That he could also understand, he supposed. It wasn't as though he'd never entertained similar thoughts himself and under much less provocation. He'd made his own bed; hers had been made for her.

"Cousin Mary," he greeted with a polite nod as he reached her, and she fell into step so easily beside him.

They spoke of inconsequential things with a new openness born of their shared knowledge, yet simultaneously hindered by it. He asked her to play a few games with him, and she graciously accepted. From the corner of his eye, he watched her face; every nuance of her placid expression was catalogued and filed away for future contemplation. He found himself showing off, and she cocked one perfect brow at him, a small twinkle beginning to grow in the dark depths of her eyes. And, when he won a prize, he chose a small, wooden carving of a horse, its head tossed back in defiance of anyone who might try to saddle and ride it. When he handed it to Mary, she smiled - a real smile that dimpled her chin and crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"It's Diamond!" she exclaimed, turning the small creature over in her dove grey gloves. "Excellent choice."

"I'm glad you like it," he answered genuinely as they left the booth. "Now, perhaps you'd like to join me for a glass of lemonade. I'm parched."

"Actually, I'd better start walking back. It's getting late."

Matthew's smile faltered at her answer, and he truly realized how much he'd been enjoying her company.

"Oh? Well...Goodnight, then," he spoke haltingly, wanting to ask if he could walk her home, but sensing that she wished to escape his presence. He was disappointed, but quickly squashed the feeling. She'd already tolerated him very graciously for nearly half an hour. He couldn't simply win her a child's toy and expect her opinion of him to change just like that.

"Goodnight," Mary answered in turn, "and thank you again." She held up the little horse, giving him another tiny smile before turning to leave.

* * *

Later that evening, in the privacy of her bedroom, Mary removed the tiny horse from her handbag and held it close to the lamp, admiring the attention to detail and the fine craftsmanship. She wondered if it had been carved by someone local, one of her father's own tenants perhaps. The resemblance to Diamond was so uncanny, it must have been done by someone who had admired him at least once, perhaps from a distance.

Her thoughts turned from the man who'd carved the horse to the man who'd given it to her. She'd watched as Matthew's eyes had scanned the shelf of delicate little dolls and bunches of silk flowers - things one would typically imagine a woman wanting - before selecting the exact thing she would have chosen for herself. Either he'd made a lucky guess or he understood her better than she would have expected. This idea might have come with surprise and skepticism even a week earlier, but after learning of Matthew's willingness to help investigate the entail for her benefit, it wasn't so easy to dismiss. _"You mean a great deal,"_ he'd said with surprising compassion and empathy. Yes, there were things about her it seemed he did understand, and the more he seemingly understood her the less she understood him.

"What have you got there, milady?"

She jumped as Anna's voice unexpectedly broke her reverie.

"Oh, just something I got at the fair," she answered nonchalantly.

"Dr. Crawley won it for you, didn't he?" Anna asked knowingly. At Mary's questioning look, she added, "I saw the two of you together. And, if you don't mind my saying so, I thought you made a very fine couple indeed."

"Oh, Anna, don't be ridiculous." Mary laughed dismissively at Anna's absurd, if sweet, comment and placed the little horse on the vanity before seating herself and stripping off her gloves. Anna's fingers delved into her tightly wound coiffure, gently removing the pins.

"I think Dr. Crawley might have a crush on you," the maid continued, a teasing smile on her face. To her dismay, Mary's smile fell, and she looked down at her now bare hands.

"Anna, you and I both know how ridiculous _that_ is. He was only being polite."

A warm hand rested on her shoulder, and Mary looked up, meeting Anna's kind blue eyes in the glass.

"Milady...any man who would dismiss you because of _that_ isn't worthy of your time. But I don't think that's the case with Dr. Crawley. He's far too good a person for it."

"He is good," Mary agreed quietly. "Too good for his own good, I think."

Once she had bid Anna goodnight, Mary took the little toy horse in her hands again and walked over to the table beside her bed. Pulling out the drawer, she nestled the horse next to the small stuffed dog she'd managed to smuggle out of the nursery with her when she'd been forced, unwillingly, to leave it when society had demanded she grow up whether she was ready to or not. She'd come to think of it as a lucky charm of sorts, though she knew the notion was silly and childish. Perhaps just as childish as holding on to a toy she'd had since infancy. She looked at the proud little horse lying next to it and wondered, if the dog was for luck, what the horse might represent.

* * *

The grass felt cool under Matthew's palms as his hands fisted in it, tearing the delicate blades up by the roots before tossing them into the wind, watching the fragments of vibrant green float away on the gentle breeze. His book (a pretense) lay unopened beside him, his bicycle overturned just beyond. He'd ridden until his calves cramped and his eyes stung before dropping, defeated, onto the grass, wondering if anyone was near enough to hear him if he shouted.

It had finally happened. He'd always known it eventually would, yet, now that the moment had arrived, the foreknowledge didn't soften the blow. Never in his life had he felt so helpless as when he had sat beside that poor man's hospital bed, watching as the life drained out of him with each weak, faltering breath, completely unable to do anything to prevent a woman from losing her husband, a son from losing his father.

_"Useless,"_ he hissed under his breath as he scrubbed his hands over his face, blocking out the bright sunlight that suddenly seemed too cheerful. Perhaps coming out here to find solitude had been a bad idea. Perhaps his bedroom, the curtains drawn and the lights shut off, would have been better. But he couldn't stand his mother's pitying looks or her platitudes. Not yet. Not now.

The distant rumble approached so quickly that he hardly had time to react before it was upon him. With a start, he jumped to his feet as a horse's startled whine pierced the still air. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust, and then he sprang into action, catching the rearing animal's reins and stroking its velvety neck soothingly.

"Whoa there, old fellow. Easy now," he crooned as the dark horse began to calm, blowing softly as it tossed its head, still a little uneasy. Matthew's eyes turned from the horse to its rider. "Are you alright, Mary?" he asked, offering her his free hand.

"I'm fine," she answered breathlessly. "You startled us."

"I'm so sorry," Matthew apologized as he helped her dismount, inwardly berating himself for his foolishness. Mary might have been seriously hurt.

"Don't be. It's me who should apologize for almost running you down." Mary smoothed her riding skirt and adjusted her hat, making sure everything was still in place. "What are you doing all the way out here, anyway?"

"I was just..." Matthew faltered, a dark cloud passing over his expression as he recalled the reason he had escaped to this deserted corner of the estate. "I was reading," he finished at last, but not quickly enough to escape Mary's sharp eyes.

"Is something the matter?" she asked kindly, taking him by surprise as her brow drew together with genuine concern.

"Please, sit down," he insisted, brushing off her question. He shrugged out of his jacket and spread it on the grass. "You need to catch your breath before you faint."

"I'm not going to faint, Dr. Jekyll," she retorted, her eyes falling on the slim volume at their feet.

Matthew chuckled despite himself at her reference, and he smiled as he watched her seat herself gracefully on his jacket before tying Diamond's reins to a nearby branch. Opening the saddle bag, he quickly located a flask of cool water, which he handed to Mary as he seated himself beside her.

"Drink," he commanded in his practiced clinical tone that would brook no argument.

Mary only did as he demanded because she was truly thirsty, emptying the small container before placing it on the grass beside her. Matthew eyed her carefully for signs of weakness, noting with a frown the way her upper chest rose and fell rapidly while her abdomen remained perfectly still. Damned impractical women's fashion didn't allow for proper oxygen intake. He caught her gaze and studied her pupils, which, after a moment, dilated rapidly before her eyes went suddenly unfocused. Her breaths seemed to come a little faster and her face flushed, giving him a little jolt of alarm.

"I'm really not going to faint, Matthew," Mary insisted, tearing her gaze away to stare out across the sunny park. She glanced back at him; he was still watching her like a hawk, clearly not convinced and poised to reach for her at the slightest sign of movement. She looked away again and tried her best to breathe normally, pressing her hand to her stomach for a moment before quickly removing it.

"I sincerely hope women in general realize how unhealthy corsets are soon," Matthew grumbled, still eying her as she breathed deeply as she could manage. "The constriction of the diaphragm..."

"I'd rather not discuss my undergarments, if you don't mind," Mary interrupted him, her cheeks growing embarrassingly hot.

"Sorry," he apologized softly, finally allowing his gaze to stray away from her. He figured if she had the presence of mind to be sharp with him she probably wasn't feeling faint.

After an awkward moment of silence, Matthew asked, "Are you alone? Did the stable master not accompany you?"

A guilty look flashed over Mary's features, which she quickly schooled back to their usual calm. "Lynch has a cold, so I had one of the stable boys saddle Diamond for me. I gave him a guinea not to tell anyone."

Matthew didn't know whether to be impressed or to scold her for venturing out alone. He now had another item to add to the growing list of Mary's intriguing and bewildering qualities.

"You won't tell Papa, will you?" Mary asked, suddenly worried. "He's in London until Tuesday."

Matthew breathed a little amused laugh. "I took an oath never to break the confidence of a patient."

"Thank you," Mary responded softly, gifting him with a small smile. "Interesting choice of reading material," she observed, changing the subject as she reached for the book, turning the leather binding over in her gloved hands as she flipped through the yellowed pages.

A bashful grin was Matthew's only response. He'd reread Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde shortly after Mary's analogy at the dinner table and had grabbed it from his nightstand without a thought before heading out on his misadventure. He sighed involuntarily at the reminder of why he had come out in such a hurry in the first place, his thoughts returning to the dark place they had been in before Mary had distracted him.

"You never did tell me what you're _really_ doing out here," she reiterated, placing the book back on the soft grass.

Matthew searched her face, seeing only genuine concern written on her perfect features, and felt a sudden, unexplainable urge to confide in her. Somehow, he knew Mary wouldn't try to appease him with platitudes or console him with useless sympathy.

"I lost my first patient today," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

"I'm sorry," Mary responded quietly, her dark eyes compassionate but not pitying.

"He was around your father's age. Not really young, but still not old enough to die. But his liver was failing, and...there just wasn't anything I could do." A moment passed in silence as he breathed a heavy sigh. "I can't even begin to describe what a terrible feeling that is...that powerlessness."

"I may understand powerlessness more than you think," Mary shot back, "although it's myself I never can seem to help, let alone anyone else."

"I feel that way sometimes too. Like, how can I expect to be of use to anyone when...Never mind."

"At least you got to choose your profession," Mary added. "That has to count for something."

"You would think so," Matthew answered with a frown, "but sometimes..."

"Go on," Mary prompted as he fell silent, his expression pensive.

"If I confess something to you will you confess something to me?" he asked, his expression changing, becoming suddenly indecipherable. The unknown made Mary slightly uncomfortable.

"Depends on what you want me to confess," she answered warily.

"Very well. Just give me permission to ask a very forward question, and you don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"Alright," she conceded, nodding her permission for him to begin.

"I was just wondering...did you love him?"

Mary's head snapped up, and she met his intense gaze with rising alarm. "What?"

"The Turkish gentleman," Matthew explained, fighting the temptation to tug on his collar. "Did you love him? Because, if it was love..."

"Of course not. I hardly knew him."

"Then why..."

"I believe I only agreed to make one confession," Mary interrupted him, smoothly dodging his question. "Your turn now."

Matthew blinked several times as he tried to process the surprising, and frankly troubling, information Mary had just divulged. Here was another mystery, another way in which she never ceased to puzzle him. Pushing the whirr of his thoughts aside for the moment, he forced himself to focus on his own confession. He had given his word after all, though he couldn't promise himself he wouldn't press for more information after he'd finished.

"Sometimes," he began softly, "I wonder if I've made the wrong choice in becoming a doctor."

"What? But I thought you loved your job," Mary asked, clearly shocked by his admission.

"I like to be useful, and it is my duty, but...I often wonder if I'm really cut out for it. And not only because I lost a patient today. It was my father's dying wish, you see, that I study medicine at university when I really wanted to study the law. When I promised him on his death bed that I would follow in his footsteps - carry on his legacy, as it were - I'd thought I might go back on it after he was gone, but I found that I couldn't. I felt awful for even considering it."

Matthew's eyes were focused on Mary's small hand where it rested on the grass, but, in his mind, he saw the three short Latin words inscribed on the plaque above his desk - the last thing his father had ever given him.

Mary took advantage of his distraction to study him undetected, and, when he suddenly looked up and met her gaze, the expression in her sable eyes was totally different than anything he'd ever seen before - almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. Matthew hadn't chosen his lot any more than she had chosen hers. It was only an illusion, and only he knew the real truth of it.

"You did your duty to your father," she spoke after a long moment. "Surely there's some comfort in that."

"There is. Of course, there is," Matthew answered. "But...sometimes I do wonder if I should have chosen differently. It's one thing to have your future dictated by others, and another thing to be forced to make a choice you don't want to make."

"I understand that too...much better than you might think," Mary breathed. "And yet, we both have to live with the choices we've made, whether we wanted to make them or not."

She gave him an eloquent look, saying with her eyes what she couldn't say aloud, and the truth of what she had just confessed suddenly dawned on him. The pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place as understanding began to show in his expression. Mary looked decidedly away, not wanting to see his pity.

"You're strong."

Matthew's whispered response surprised her, and her gaze locked with his once again. It was the most sincere compliment anyone had ever given her. Two simple words that said as much as they didn't say, the open admiration in his expression filling in the blanks.

"Much stronger than I am," he finished, returning his gaze to the ground between them.

A few minutes later, the approaching late-afternoon chill prompted Matthew to help Mary back onto her horse, that sleek, full-sized version of the trinket he'd won her at the fair. Could that really have been only a few days ago? He felt as though a lifetime had passed, and they were now reborn, two entirely new people who saw each other in a completely different light.

"I suppose we'll see you at dinner tomorrow?" she asked as she looked down at him from her perch.

"As always," he answered, smiling up at her.

"Goodbye then, Dr. Frankenstein."

Matthew laughed at her friendly teasing as she spurred Diamond into a brisk trot that soon took her stately figure out of his sight.

* * *

_Thanks go out to everyone who has faithfully read and reviewed, as well as to Willa Dedalus for all the wonderful ideas and support. _

_If you have a moment, I would cherish your thoughts. :)_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait for this chapter, friends! I just got back from a week at the beach. Not too thrilled to be back in the real world, sadly, but I'm glad to have this chapter polished and ready to go. Lots of thanks go out to Willa Dedalus for being patient with my procrastinating and for all the help and support. Also to those who reviewed the last chapter or sent messages/comments on Tumblr. Your support and enthusiasm mean more than you know. :) _

* * *

_Chapter 8_

A little flutter of nervous anticipation tickled Matthew's belly as he handed his bicycle to Thomas and entered the big house. Carson was there, ever vigilant, ready to take his hat and bag.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Crawley," the butler greeted him politely. "I'm afraid Lord Grantham isn't due back until tomorrow, sir."

"Actually," Matthew responded, wiping his damp palms on his trousers, "I'm here to see Lady Mary. Is she in?"

"I believe Lady Mary is in the library, sir. Shall I announce you?"

"There's no need, Carson. Thank you. I'll just...go on in, then."

"Very well," Carson responded with a twitch of his bushy eyebrow that clearly communicated his mild disapproval of Matthew's lax attitude toward the way things had always been done at Downton. Matthew gave him what he hoped was a reassuring and appreciative smile.

"I won't be long," he explained briefly. "Thank you again, Carson."

"Quite right, sir," Carson nodded before returning to his duties.

Matthew took a deep, steadying breath, gathering his wits, before turning in the direction of the library. The door stood wide open, and he quickly spotted Mary's slender form hovering in front of one of the book cases. She was standing on her toes, her long fingers grasping ineffectually at a book just out of her reach.

"Need some help with that?" he asked, smiling as she let out a little gasp of surprise. It wasn't easy to ruffle the ever-composed Lady Mary, and he felt a small sense of accomplishment at having done so twice in as many days.

Mary's hand flew to her chest as she quickly came down from her toes and spun to face her unexpected visitor.

"Don't you know it's rude to sneak up on a lady, Dr. van Helsing?" she scolded him playfully, a little surprised by the ease with which she accepted his unlooked-for company, as well as by the little tease that seemed to bubble up out of her without forethought.

To her relief, Matthew's smile broadened as he strode with renewed confidence into the room.

"Forgive me for startling you, but I thought it rather more rude of me not to offer aid to a lady in need of assistance. Now that I'm here, perhaps there's a blood-thirsty vampire I can slay for you...or I could fetch you that book down."

"Well, since Edith isn't here at the moment, I'll settle for the book," Mary replied saucily, earning a playful glare of reproach from Matthew as he took the last few steps to the book shelf, standing so close she imagined she could feel the heat of his body enveloping her. The warm, clean scent of soap and aftershave lotion drifted over her, and it wasn't at all unpleasant. Taking a step back to clear her head, Mary returned her attention to the high shelf.

"It's that one," she said, pointing.

"Dare I venture to guess it's _Dracula_ you're trying to reach?" Matthew asked, trying to follow her line of sight.

"No," Mary answered quietly, blushing a little as she revealed her choice. "Kate Chopin, _the Awakening_."

Matthew quirked an eyebrow at her controversial choice, but quickly located the title on the shelf overhead and withdrew the slim volume. As he placed it in Mary's waiting hands, she stared unwaveringly up at him, her eyes daring him to question her choice. His reaction, when it came, surprised her.

"Miss Chopin's descriptions of the Gulf of Mexico sound very inviting, if rather hot. I'd like to see it some day."

"Uh...yes," Mary agreed with him after a momentary pause.

"I must say, I'm surprised your father has such a book in his collection," Matthew continued. "It doesn't seem like something he would approve of his daughters reading."

His tone and countenance bore no judgement, no sign that he agreed with his assessment of her father's opinion, which put Mary at ease.

"He doesn't approve, which is why it's placed high on the shelf where we'd have no hope of reaching it until we were older," she explained. "But he doesn't forbid me from reading anything in the library I wish to. He knows better than to try."

Matthew chuckled softly at her honest answer, imagining a barefoot Mary with her hair loose around her shoulders sneaking down to the library in the dead of night to read a forbidden book by candlelight. If he'd learned anything by observing her these past months, the knowledge that something was out of her reach would only make this tenacious woman more determined to have it.

"Thank you for your gallant assistance." Her soft voice broke the momentary silence. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Yes, actually," Matthew answered, finding it necessary to press his palms against his trousers again as the realization of just how close to Lady Mary he was standing began to toy with his composure. Her dark eyes were so incredibly bewitching when they looked up at him like that, so friendly and open, that small smile tugging at her perfect mouth and dimpling one smooth cheek. "I've just been to see Lynch. After you told me yesterday that he was ill with a cold, I thought I'd better check in."

"That was thoughtful of you," Mary responded, her expression growing concerned. "How is he?"

"Not as well as I had hoped. He's developed a rather nasty cough that should keep him in bed for a few weeks, at least, but he'll mend."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll have Mrs. Patmore make up a basket for him."

Matthew was deeply impressed by her genuine care for those in service to her, and she grew a little more in his already high estimation.

"I'm sure it would be appreciated," he breathed, steadying himself before plunging headlong into his real reason for wanting to speak to her, despite his nerves. "The thing is...I'd hate for you to have to forgo riding until he's up and about again. You seem to love it so."

Mary nodded and looked up at him with a questioning expression that silently asked him to continue.

"I was just wondering...if I might offer my services as riding companion until Lynch is able to resume his duties." Her eloquent features shifted again to reflect her surprise, and he quickly added, "Your father will be back tomorrow, so I doubt you'll be able to get away with riding alone for much longer. I'm happy to help, really."

"Alright," Mary responded, slightly hesitant. "If it isn't any trouble."

"Oh, it's no trouble. No trouble at all," Matthew shot back. "I can't have one of my patients riding out alone on my watch."

"Well...thank you, then, Dr. Faustus."

"Until next time, Lady Godiva," Matthew teased back boldly, his face instantly heating at the provocative image his rash words conjured. A quick glance at Mary's pinkened face told him that her mind had wandered down the same path, and he was relieved that she appeared rather more shocked than offended. He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction that he'd ruffled her perfect feathers yet again.

He left Downton feeling rather smug, having discovered his own power to affect the beautiful and stoic Lady Mary's composure. It was a good thing to know.

* * *

The rhythmic thudding of eight flying hooves against the hard earth resonated in Mary's ears like the most exciting music. She glanced back to see Matthew gaining on her, his smile widening as he urged his horse to go faster. Robert's fine thoroughbred seemed to accept the challenge with enthusiasm, and, soon, the horses were neck and neck, their rider's shooting each other taunting glances and challenging smiles.

"Is that the best you can do?" Matthew called to her over the roar of the wind in their ears, and Mary's dark eyes narrowed into a defiant glare before turning resolutely back to the path ahead.

"You're only keeping up because I let you," she called back, her breathing labored with exertion and excitement.

"Rubbish!" Matthew shot back, a single word reply being all his laboring lungs could manage at the moment.

Mary shot him a look again before suddenly steering Diamond to the right, away from their original destination, heading straight for a small ravine with edges that appeared alarmingly steep to Matthew's eyes.

"Mary!" he called in warning, his horse faltering for a moment as he fumbled with the reins, eventually turning them in the direction Mary had taken off in. "Mary, don't! It's too dangerous," he tried again, but she was already sailing over the obstacle, suspended in mid-air for what felt to Matthew like an eternity, before landing gracefully on the other side.

Running a leather-gloved hand over his face, Matthew reigned his horse in and breathed a sigh of relief that she was alright. He mentally chastened himself for baiting her, knowing that, if she'd been injured accepting his foolish challenge, he'd never have forgiven himself.

"What's the matter, Matthew? Are you chicken?"

Her teasing, taunting voice brought an involuntary smile to his face, pulling him back into the moment. Riding out with Mary twice a week for the past month had been tremendous fun in so many ways. He'd never enjoyed the actual act of riding so much as now, when he saw the real beauty and thrill of it through Mary's eyes. Mostly, he'd enjoyed the time spent in her company, becoming more and more impressed with her as the protective walls she'd erected around her real self began to crumble before his very eyes and he was granted enticing glimpses of the vibrant personality that society had forced her to hide. So few ever saw this side of her - this playful, carefree side - and he wasn't blind to the privilege he'd been granted. They got on so well together, he almost couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been a part of his life, nor did he want to imagine a future without her in it. If only it were possible that she might see him as more than a cousin and friend, but she'd made herself quite clear on that score. But her friendship had become so very dear to him that, even if friendship was all they ever shared, he would cherish it. No one understood him the way Mary did; no one and nothing else made him feel so incredibly _alive_ as Mary did.

Holding her smug gaze, he walked his horse carefully down the steep bank and up the other side, proving without words the she'd been right about his being chicken. He wasn't as brave as she was, and he didn't mind admitting it.

When Mary laughed and tried to take off again, he quickly spurred his horse into action, catching up with her in only a few strides and reaching over to grasp Diamond's reigns.

"I don't think so, Lady Mary! You won't get away from me so easily again...today, at least." He tugged their horses closer together without realizing what he was doing, the desire to be closer to her overruling conscious thought. His breath caught as her thigh brushed against his.

"Spoil sport," she accused teasingly, rolling her eyes at him as a fond smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Mary glanced over at Matthew to find his deep blue gaze fixed searchingly on her face, his expression unreadable. She found herself unable to look away, and, for a breathless moment, she was struck with a deep awareness that Matthew was attractive. Terribly so, really. The realization had been dawning on her by degrees for some time now, but the full force of it struck her all at once, making her breath catch. But then he spoke, and, suddenly, reality came crashing down around her, turning her heart into a lead weight that seemed to sink down into her stomach and lodge in her throat simultaneously.

"I'm so glad we're friends, Mary," he'd said so innocently, completely unaware of the effect of his words to cause a woman teetering on the edge of love to fall headlong into the gaping chasm opening up inside her with nothing to cushion her inevitably rough landing. It was cruel, she thought, that she would love the one man who couldn't possibly see her as anything more than a _friend._ For how could he ever return her love knowing what he knew? She was lucky to have his friendship and would have to be satisfied with that.

"I'm ready to head back now," she announced abruptly, almost harshly, as she tore her gaze away from his.

Matthew breathed a shaky "alright" as his hand fell limply away from Diamond's reigns, allowing horse and rider to distance themselves from him, as Mary so clearly intended.

* * *

Mary smoothed her skirt unnecessarily as she walked, her heels clicking rhythmically against the cobblestones of the street. The hospital came into view as she approached, and she, again, wondered if she should try to talk herself out of going. Her hay fever really wasn't so bad, but she'd been glad for any reason, even a practically contrived one, to see Matthew.

An entire fortnight had passed since their last ride together, and she was beginning to miss his company dreadfully, however wise she'd deemed it to distance herself from the source of such potential heartache. Perhaps distance was all that was needed to get her unwanted feelings under control. Despite her well-reasoned arguments, she found herself walking towards the hospital at a day and time when she knew Matthew would be there, hoping to spend just a few minutes alone in his company. Nothing good could come of it, she was sure, but she'd only seen him twice at dinner in the past two weeks and they'd barely spoken. She missed him, and, as much as she hated it, she couldn't deny it.

The hospital door creaked quietly as she pushed it open, stepping softly into the cool entryway. The smooth, warm tones of Matthew's voice instantly surrounded her, echoing softly from the main ward entrance down the hallway. She could tell by the animated lilt in his tone that he was speaking to a child. A little smile curved her mouth as she entered the ward and spied Matthew sitting on the edge of a bed with a young boy seated on his knee. The child's arm and ankle were tightly wrapped, and his round little face showed evidence of recent tears. But, at the moment, his eyes were dry and bright, fixed on Matthew's face as he concluded the tale of how he'd broken his arm falling from the garden wall of his boyhood home.

Mary's eyes were drawn reluctantly away from the sweet picture the two made as she noticed Isobel approaching from down the hall.

"Cousin Mary," the older woman greeted politely. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

As if sensing his gaze on her, Mary glanced back at Matthew, meeting his surprised stare for a moment before returning her attention to his mother.

"Yes. I've come to see the doctor about my hay fever," she answered succinctly.

"I'll be with you in just a moment, Lady Mary," Matthew answered before Isobel could offer her assistance instead. Mary watched as he gently placed the boy in his father's waiting arms before reaching into his coat pocket to produce a colorfully wrapped sweet.

"No more tree climbing for a few weeks, alright," Matthew admonished his young patient with a fond smile and gentle ruffle of his dark curls. The boy nodded obediently and thanked Matthew for the sweet. The relieved father also expressed his thanks before being shown to the door by Isobel, leaving Mary and Matthew essentially alone in the quiet ward.

A mere second of silence seemed an eternity as their gazes locked. Matthew patted his clothing and adjusted his stethoscope around his neck self-consciously, feeling unaccountably nervous in Mary's unexpected, and overwhelming, presence.

"Shall we step into my office?" he prompted, gently cupping her elbow to steer her in the right direction.

"Thank you," Mary acknowledged as she followed him into the designated room, her heart fluttering in her chest at his touch and his closeness. Once in his office, he closed the door behind them and walked behind the desk, seating himself and opening a large notebook.

"If you don't mind, I just need to jot down a few notes about that last case while it's still fresh. Have a seat, if you'd like."

Mary nodded her thanks but opted to casually stroll the periphery of the small office as he worked, the warmth building inside her making it difficult to think of sitting still. So, she slowly moved between each framed item hanging on the walls, admiring his diplomas and several pieces of art, sneaking glances at him as he quickly made his notes. She thought he looked wonderfully handsome in his white coat and red tie, all that wonderful blonde hair slightly disheveled and hanging over his forehead. Once, he looked up and met her gaze, his lips curving up into an infectious grin that she couldn't help but return.

To break the heated moment, Mary turned her attention back to her perusal of his office, using the opportunity to make little observations about the man himself. She noted that his desk was kept meticulously in order and each bottle in his medicine cabinet was neatly labeled and arranged alphabetically. The decor was simple and masculine and in good taste. Unsurprising, really, knowing him as she now felt she did.

Just as Matthew was closing his notebook and putting away his pen, Mary came to a stop behind his desk, her eyes drawn to the little plaque displayed there.

"_Cura te ipsum,_" she read, her fingers tracing the embroidered letters. "Cure yourself. Sound advice for a doctor."

Matthew's deep chuckle warmed her skin from behind as he came to stand next to her.

"My father gave that to me just before he died," Matthew explained with a smile. "It hung in his office for as long as I can remember."

Mary turned to face him then, a breathtaking smile on her face.

"So, I believe I heard something about hay fever," Matthew spoke suddenly, causing that smile to falter as she realized she'd almost forgotten the reason she'd come in the first place.

"Uh, yes. I was hoping you might have something I could take."

"Well, let's see..." He stepped closer and pressed the cool backs of his fingers against her forehead. "No temperature," he observed before gently taking her face in his fingertips, tilting it up towards his. Mary's heart lodged in her throat. His eyes locked with hers, gazing so intently she was sure he was reading into her very soul. Her lips felt dry, and her tongue darted out to wet them without conscious forethought. Matthew's gaze tracked the movement, and Mary's eyes dropped instinctually to his mouth as he mirrored the action. Then his hands were gone from her face, the loss of their warmth making her feel suddenly chilled.

"Your eyes are a little red," he observed with concern as he strode to the medicine cabinet.

Mary blinked several times to collect herself while his back was turned. By the time he'd closed the cabinet and turned to hand her the small parcel he'd prepared, her calm smile was firmly back in place.

"Two of these a day with water should do the trick," he said.

"Thank you." Mary felt his fingers brush lightly over hers as he pressed the parcel into her open palm. "I suppose we'll see you at dinner tomorrow night."

"Of course," Matthew answered, reluctant to let her go now that she was here. Ever since the day two weeks ago when he'd given Lynch a clean bill of heath and had been forced to relinquish the position of riding companion in the absence of an invitation to continue, he'd been missing her company desperately.

"Well...goodbye then."

"Goodbye."

Mary turned to go, but he stopped her just before she disappeared into the hallway.

"Wait," he called, digging in his coat pocket for one of the same colorfully wrapped sweets he'd given his young patient. Mary accepted it with a smile that could almost be called shy, thanking him one final time before taking her leave.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed the chapter. So Mary has now made the big leap to acknowledging her feelings. I think it may be time to get these to kids together properly, are we agreed? ;) _


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